


Saving Sal

by HeadCannon



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadCannon/pseuds/HeadCannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her nephew falls ill, Tumblr-famous fanartist Santana Lopez puts out a call for commissions. Her loyal followers come through as expected. But what of this random newbie who's requesting Santana's favorite comic book heroine sporting actress Quinn Fabray's face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Thank you (you know who you are) for being so supportive and telling me to post what I've written (both this story and LtL). You were right. There, I said it. (;  
> 2\. This is not completed yet; so, updates won't be as quick as Louisville to Lemonade. I'll try not to make the wait too long, though.

“Hey, bro,” the dark-haired girl says easily. Santana’s cell is caught between her ear and her shoulder as she pokes her password onto the tablet screen. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call in the middle of the day? And before you say anything, yes, I ate something,” she says as she eyes an empty can of Red Bull that sits on top of a Doritos bag in her trash basket. “No, I’m not still in my pajamas,” she adds as she looks down at her Super Hero Squad boxers, “mostly; and no, I’m not changing my mind about my Halloween costume. Get over it. I’m gonna look super-hot.” 

“Good, um,” her brother replies distractedly before taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, “look, I really need to talk to you. Are you busy?”

“I’m about a bazillion commissions behind and at least half are due within a week. Those fuckers are multiplying like tribbles. I know I shouldn’t complain; it’s work, at least. Anyway, I was planning to get caught up …”

“… I really need to talk to you but I want to do it in person. Can you meet me?” Santana frowns at the way her brother’s voice shakes.

“Ric,” she says slowly, a nervous tension starting to twist in her stomach, “what’s going on?” 

“Look it’s got to be in person because,” he reiterates and then clears his throat again. “I can’t do this on the phone, okay? Can you meet me?”

It’s common knowledge that Santana Lopez got all of the dramatic, over-the-top genes, leaving none for her brother, Ricardo “Ricky” Lopez. Hey, first one out gets first dibs. It’s not like it’s her fault that she’s three and half minutes older. You snooze, you lose, right? 

Ricky doesn’t do drama. He tells it like it is – that’s how their family works –he doesn’t pause for dramatic effect or use colorful language. He’s the simpler of the two, no doubt. 

It’s understandable, then, that Santana immediately defaults into worry mode.

She straightens her back and refuses to sound too concerned until she’s agreed on a meeting time and place. Once the phone call is over, she’s pacing and tugging her long hair over her shoulder, twirling the ends tightly around her fingers over and over again. 

It’s not the way Ric’s sitting hunched over on the park bench with his forearms resting on his knees and his head cradled in his hands or even how red his eyes are when he looks up at his sister that stops Santana’s heart for a beat. It’s the way his voice cracks and his face crumples in despair as he says, “It’s Sal.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a little difficulty with the formatting right now. Still trying to fix it ...

_IAimToMisbehave:_

_I know - I_ _’_ _m terribly behind on requests. And I know I said I_ _’_ _d never do this self-promoting stuff, (as the Doctor says, "this isn't going to be big on dignity") but it_ _’_ _s uber-important. I_ _’_ _ve cleared the decks and will be focusing my attention 100% on getting my backlogged orders out so that I can reopen commission requests_ _–_ _starting in two days. That_ _’_ _s 48 short hours from now. (Or two episodes chock-full of Jack Bauer action_ _…_ _)_

_Synchronize your watches, folks. And can someone cue the Mission Impossible soundtrack?_

_Reason: (stop and skip to the next paragraph if you don_ _’_ _t want to read a personal note) I just learned that my nephew_ _–_ _Super Sal - is super sick. I don_ _’_ _t really get the medical mumbo jumbo (it felt like House, ER **and** Grey's Anatomy threw up on me) but what I did get is: lots of tests, lots of medical trials, lots of doctor_ _’_ _s visits. And that means lots of money that my brother (Sidekick Ric) doesn_ _’_ _t have._

 _If you_ _’_ _re a regular here, you know I don_ _’_ _t post a lot personal stuff. I promise, from now it_ _’_ _s the same bat-show on the same bat-channel at the same bat-time._

 _So, if you have extra cash and like my drawings enough to want one of your very own, drop a line in my ask box (not yet_ _–_ _in 48 hours -  That_ _’_ _s two Jack Bauers!). I_ _’_ _m open to any fandom, any ship, any rating_ _…_ _anything._

 _Even if you don_ _’_ _t want to order, it_ _’_ _d be awesome if you_ _’_ _d **reblog** and give me a signal boost._

 _At 6 PM PST (go Dodger Blue!) I_ _’_ _m going to fire up the ol_ _’_ _webcam and do a livestream of my current piece (finally, the end of the last round of requests!). Pop in, turn on your cams/mics and let_ _’_ _s talk, yeah?_

  * _ManganeticMike likes this_
  * _MollyLane likes this_
  * _MollyLane reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: I_ _’_ _m first in line. 48 hours and counting. I knew you_ _’_ _d end up drawing Twilight for me!_
  * _More notes_



Santana grimaces, her nose crinkling as she reads her best friend’s note. “Awesome,” she says to herself, absent-mindedly twirling her hair around her finger. “I’m delving into Twilight fandom. This is rock bottom, for sure.”

Pushing her tablet out of the way, Santana grabs a pad of acid-free drawing paper and rubber-bands it to a giant clipboard. Pencils, erasers, razors and stippling tools (known to laypeople as _Q-tips_ ) sit next to a large can (unopened thus far) of Red Bull. Her webcam, the lens set to focus on a small section of her work table, is still set up from her invitational drawing lesson in Google Hangouts.

Nine of her followers, all with pencil and paper at the ready, enjoyed the easy conversation and moderate-to-difficult tutorial shared that night. She smiles as she remembers Tina’s face when, for the first time in the two years they’d been talking online, she laid eyes on their friend, Mike.

Tina took it gracefully when Santana emailed a quick sketch the next morning. It was a caricature of Tina, with hearts for eyes, looking at a laptop with Mike’s Totoro avatar prominently displayed on the screen.

 _: Get your ass back online, Twitard, or I_ _’_ _m not doing your drawing for anything less than $150._

The response is almost immediate. A popping sound bounces out of her speakers (surround sound, thank you) and her best friend’s name lights up.

 

MollyNPoo: _Don_ _’_ _t call me that. And you_ _’_ _re not going to give me a discount?_

LilyTattoo: _You're making me draw Twilight and you have the nerve to ask for a discount?_

MollyNPoo: _Could be worse._

LilyTattoo: _I can't imagine how._

MollyNPoo: _Could be xover - Twilight and 50 Shades ..._

LilyTattoo: _That_ _’_ _s pure evil. I'm firing up the cam now. Let's see how many takers we get tonight, yeah? Maybe you should promise to write a one-shot for each piece I draw. That'll do it._

MollyNPoo: _Are you drafting me?_

LilyTattoo: _... it's for a good cause, T. And, c'mon, how many Jacob loves Bella loves Edward fics can you write?  
_

MollyNPoo: _I'm in_ _–_ _if someone requests one.  And for the record, I rarely write Twilight anymore. I'm back to femslash._

 

A short binging sound catches Santana's attention and she smiles.

 

LilyTattoo: _Your boyfriend_ _’_ _s here. Don_ _’_ _t be shy, now. *brow waggle*_

MollyNPoo: _He_ _’_ _s not my boyfriend._

MollyNPoo: _Shut up._

MollyNPoo: _Did I tell you that he called last night *squee!* to go over our RP? He called. On the phone._

LilyTattoo: _Is it a 50 Shades RP, eh? Eh?_

 

“Anyone there? San?”

“Hey, Mikey. I’m here. I was just talking to Tina about your RP,” Santana replies, trying not to laugh. “Sounds awesome.” 

“She’s a great Katniss,” he says. “I mean, I wouldn’t have even signed up for The Hunger Games if she didn’t ask me and promise to be the Katniss to my Peeta. We’re endgame.”

 “I don’t doubt it.” Santana smirks at his icon. “Turn on your cam, I want to see the look on your face when you figure out the commission I’m drawing.”

A small box pops up at the top of the browser and Mike waves at her. “Give me a hint?”

“Nuh uh.” 

There’s a tapping sound and then Tina says, “Hey guys. You there?”

Santana frowns at her screen. “We can hear you, but we’d rather see you.” She coughs softly to cover her chuckle as she says, “Right, Mikey?”

“Yeah,” he says wistfully. He shifts around in his chair and sits stiffly, his voice coming through the speakers more quickly than before, “I mean, we’re all on cam, so …”

 A box with Tina’s face comes to life next to Mike’s camera feed. Santana's smirk returns but she doesn’t say anything about them looking cute together. She has a feeling there will be plenty of time for that in the future. 

“I have to get a new camera. This one doesn’t work unless I turn on every light in my room,” Tina says sadly. “I was saving up for a Lulu book but …”

“Oh? What story?” Mike rests his elbows on his desk and puts his chin on his hands.

“Would it sound terribly conceited if I said one of my own?”

Santana shakes her head and then remembers that her camera is set on the paper and not on her. “Depends which one. If it’s anything you’ve written for Twilight or Teen frikkin Wolf, don’t spend the dough.”

“Hey!” Her best friend glares into the camera, affronted.

“Not saying anything bad about your writing. You don’t have much to play with there. Now if it’s some good ol’ Pretty Little Liars or maybe a bit of X-Men slash,” Santana inhales through her teeth. “Print me out a few copies, too. And manip me a cover because all those liars are hot as shit. Even the one with the eyebrows is hella cute.” 

“Don’t they all have eyebrows?” Mike asks, confusion evident in his voice.

A few keystrokes and a couple of mouse clicks later and the livestream link posts. Santana’s loyal followers, and a few names she doesn't recognize, start popping into the chat. Some use webcams, some mics and others stick to the most difficult tool for Santana to interact with – the chat box. She finds it really hard to follow the rapid-fire comments unless she sits and watches the box, which she can’t do if she’s drawing.

 

_DiamondLuce has joined SoundsSketchy chat room_

_GetKraken has joined SoundsSketchy chat room_

 

“Okay, people who don’t suck too terribly are here so, I’m going to get started. This is a special request from Detsee. I think she just wants to see if she can get Mikey’s ears to smoke,” Santana teases, pushing her glasses a little higher on her nose and fumbling off-camera with her tablet. “I’ve got my references so I’m going to skip tests. I’ve drawn these folks enough to have an idea of what I’m gonna do … .”

 

_DetCom has joined SoundsSketchy chat room_

“You’re late, Dets,” Tina says, poking her finger at her webcam.

“I was trying to get my brother to leave,” the new arrival replies. “He was finishing up his gossip vlog thing.” She sighs as she adjusts her camera. “He such a nerd. And not in a good way.”  

 

GetKraken says _I_ _’_ _m disappointed. No music?_

 

Mike’s laugh draws Santana’s attention away from her artwork and to the chat box. She reads the messages as they start to scroll, most of them requesting a download link to the evening’s playlist.

 

GetKraken says _I_ _’_ _m inciting a mutiny!_

 

“Who even invited you, Krak?” she asks as she pulls a piece of paper from her scratch stack and quickly draws a stick figure with a cartoon hand, its middle finger sticking up. “That’s for you. Free of charge.” She scribbles her online friend’s name across the top and the pushes the paper to the side. “Hey, Mikey, can you deejay this party? I didn’t have time to get anything together for our resident pirate.”

 

“Not everyone comes for the free music,” DetCom says. Though she tries to sound bold, she still comes across as shy.

 

Tina bites her lip (and holds her tongue). It’s no secret that Santana’s follower has a bit of a tumblr-crush on her. She’s pretty consistent in reblogging and commenting on Santana’s posts. … and then there’s the awe in her voice any time Santana talks directly to her.

 

GetKraken says _Ha! Got a free drawing out of it._

DiamondLuce says _I just spent two hours trolling your blog. Definitely shouldn_ _’_ _t be giving any of your work away_.

 

It’s quiet for a few minutes until Tina breaks the silence. “Diamond, um, Luce - I don’t know what name you prefer -  but Santana isn’t ignoring you. She just isn’t very good about checking the chat box while she’s drawing.”

Santana frowns and checks the chat box. “Shit, sorry, dude. Thanks for the compliment. You got a mic?”

 

DiamondLuce says _Lucy is fine. I do have a mic though I hadn_ _’_ _t actually planned on participating. I just wanted to watch and see if maybe you were doing a Donna Troy today._

 

“She has a mic but …”

“Yeah, I read it, thanks,” Santana says, interrupting Tina and looking at this new person’s name again.  “Donna Troy, huh? Sure you weren’t looking for girls in blue plaid skirts or something?”

 

DiamondLuce says _Pretty sure. I stumbled on your blog while looking through the Teen Titans tag._

“Yeah, but your name,” the artist explains. “You know, Lucy Diamond, badass hottie from DEBS…”

 

DiamondLuce says _Oh! No, no. Good movie but_ _–_ _no. Beatles song._

“Too bad.  Anyway, Tina is right, so …” Santana trails off as she starts drawing again. “Either Tina’s gonna have to read you to me, and she’s a writer so she’s going to end up embellishing a bit and have you professing your undying love for me by the end of the night or you’re gonna have to turn on your cam or mic.”

“That’s a boob!” Mike shouts, pointing at the screen as he recognizes that his friend is drawing a female form.

“Yes, Mike. Let’s scare away the newbies by getting excited about a breast. And not even a naked one at that.” Santana rolls her eyes. “I’m drawing two women. That means four boobs. Do you need a moment alone?” 

Mike has the presence of mind to look embarrassed. He replies, his voice very near to a whine, “You won’t tell me what you’re drawing. I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“I know what you’re drawing and I can’t wait!” DetCom interrupts. “I’m so excited.”

Tina chuckles. “Okay, it’s a Detsee request and it’s got two girls. I think we all know where this is going.”

 

DiamondLuce says _Maybe not all of us_ _…_

 

“Right – newbie - sorry,” she begins to explain. “Detsee is all about comic books and lesbians and making every woman in a comic book into a lesbian. So … ”

DetCom giggles as she says, “Femslash! Santana’s specialty.”

“Fuck, everything’s my specialty,” Santana says. “Except manga. That shit destroys me.”

 

DiamondLuce says _Manga? Femslash? My newbie is really showing, right?_

Tina smiles into her camera. “We were all newbies once. Manga is a style of drawing and, actually, it’s Mike’s specialty. And his chibis are really great, too.”

Santana snorts softly to herself. “Mikey, you didn’t tell me you were showing Tina your chibis …” She glances up just in time to see her friend’s face flush. 

Tina rolls her eyes. “You can Google it, Luce. And, uh, femslash is, you know, an all-female ship. Um, in case you don’t know ship … ”

 

DiamondLuce says _I'm out of my league, I think._

 

The artist, having returned to her work, only catches Tina’s part of the conversation. “The one thing about this place, Doctor? It certainly stimulates the phagoctyes,” Santana offers dryly, her voice accompanied by the light scratch of her pencil against the paper 

There's a round of laughs and the chat box fills with _ROFL_ s and _LOL_ s 

“So, you just stumbled in here on a trek through Santana’s ridiculous Teen Titan collection?” Mike asks after the laughter dies down and there’s a lull in conversation in the chat box.

 

DiamondLuce says _I don_ _’_ _t think it_ _’_ _s ridiculous at all. Best fanart I_ _’_ _ve seen so far_ _–_ _and I_ _’_ _ve kind of been on the hunt for anything Teen Titan related._

Tina’s eyes light up. “Oh! Did you hear that they’re finally getting the film done? What do you think, Santana? Donna Troy or Cassandra Sandsmark.”

“Donna Troy forever,” the artist replies. “Why would you even ask me that, Teeny? I’m about to revoke best friend status. I mean, c’mon, she has her own tag on my blog.”

“I heard the girl from Malibu Shores is up for Wonder Girl.” DetCom pauses. “I think it’s called Malibu Shores. Whatever that show is that has zero gay people on it. And really, every show has at least one by now …”

Santana laughs. “Step off the soap box, Detsee. Just step down. We’re all friends here.”

 

DiamondLuce says _I_ _’_ _m pretty sure the Malibu Shores actress isn_ _’_ _t being considered anymore._

Tina’s head tilts as she reads the chat box. “What makes you say that, Lucy?

 "Say what?” Santana drops her pencil in frustration. “Shit, just, turn on your mic or something. The mime act is making it hard to follow, y’know?”

 

GetKraken says _Should I be offended that you never ask me to turn on my mic?_

 

Santana laughs before replying, “Yes.”

 

DiamondLuce says _I have to get going, anyway. I_ _’_ _ve been online way too long as it is. Thanks for letting me crash your party. I look forward to seeing the finished product._

“What the frak, Detsee! You can’t do that!” Mike shouts, his outburst overshadowing any discussion in the chat box. “That’s Catwoman! And … you just can’t do that!”

 Santana looks up and smirks. “Almost got smoke that time, Dets. Four for you!”

 “Catwoman is DC and Elektra is Marvel,” he continues, exasperated. “You can’t ship them. They aren’t even in the same universe!”

 “Actually, Mikey,” the artist explains, “she can, because …”

 “… because they totally met in DC versus Marvel,” DetCom finishes for Santana.

 

_DiamondLuce has left SoundsSketchy chat room_

Tina frowns. “We lost the newbie.”

 

GetKraken says _Maybe if you stopped calling her newbie_ _…_

Mike scrolls through the chat. “No, she said she had to go. We just didn’t see it.” He leans back in his chair and frowns, his attention pulled back the drawing that it taking shape on his screen. 

Santana, her voice bored, simply says, “Shoulda turned on her mic …”


	3. Chapter 3

_IAimToMisbehave:_

_Backstage Hollywood_

_“_ _DC Comics Announces Female Lead in the Much Anticipated_ _‘_ _Teen Titans_ _’_

_by Ivan Stokes_

_Actress Quinn Fabray, rumored to be in consideration for the lead in the new Diana of Wales biopic and most noted for her compelling performance as Emily Dickinson in_ _‘_ _My Life Closed Twice,_ _’_ _has signed on as Donna Troy in what promises to be next summer_ _’_ _s biggest thrill ride,_ _‘_ _Teen Titans,_ _’_ _based on the comic book series of the same name._

_The buzz over this film is about to explode as casting directors make their final decisions and look to sign big (and not-so big) named stars. DC announced the project_ _’_ _s green light at Comic Con in San Diego and promised Teen Titans fans that they wouldn_ _’_ _t be disappointed._ _”_

_I_ _’_ _ve been looking forward to this movie since it was announced. Hell, since before it was announced. I want to give the filmmakers the benefit of the doubt, but, c_ _’_ _mon guys! Quinn Fabray as Donna Troy? What are you guys smoking? (You_ _’_ _re gonna have to send me a shit-ton of it if you think I_ _’_ _m going to get on board with this casting decision)._

_I love my comic-based movies, but let_ _’_ _s be real. This film genre guarantees very little: explosions, girls in tight clothes, men with big biceps (and also in tight clothes, more recently_ _–_ _score one for tight clothes equality), usually shitty writing and even worse acting (i.e. The Phantom). So, why in the world did DC go with Fabray?_

_I_ _’_ _ve seen some of her stuff. You know, on Netflix or whatnot when nothing better was on. She_ _’_ _s always playing someone who has to stare intensely at someone else. Donna Troy doesn_ _’_ _t stare intensely. She uses superhuman strength and speed to save the fuckin_ _’_ _day. (And she flies!)_

_You need more than just a killer glare. (I know, I have cultivated such a glare and no days have been saved by yours truly)._

_If she wants to delve into fantasy_ _–_ _make her a Disney princess. She's already got the looks, right? No wigs or hair dye necessary. Or! If she wants to get into comics, make Terry Moore_ _’_ _s_ _‘_ _Strangers in Paradise._ _’_ _I_ _’_ _d watch the shit out of Fabray as Katchoo. Put that intense gaze and sultry voice to work!_

_Also, the original line-up DC? Who hires Quinn Fabray to play Donna Troy when they could have gone with the lesser Cassandra Sandsmark? If you_ _’_ _re going to lower your standards for one, you can do it for both._

  * _DetCom likes this_
  * _ManganeticMike reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: Emily Dickinson might play Princess Diana AND Donna Troy? What is this world coming to? I was hoping for some Cobie Smulders. I know, I know, Avengers. But. Cobie..._
  * _LucyInTheSky reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: Interesting take_ _…_ _and a little harsh, don_ _’_ _t you think?_
  * _MollyLane reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: Miss S thinks she_ _’_ _s fooling us. We all know she draws Emily Dickinson fanart when no one is looking._
  * _More notes_



Santana sits at her desk and scrolls through the notes on her latest post, her brow furrowing when she reads the reblog comment left by, who she suspects to be that newbie, Lucy. “What the fuck does that mean? Interesting take …” she says to herself as she clicks on a link that takes her to Lucy’s blog.

 

She takes a moment to scan the posts, her nose wrinkling as she tries to figure out what the blog – and the blogger – are all about. The posts mostly consists of fine art images with what Santana guesses are short stories or maybe really long quotes peppered in.  It’s definitely not the blog of a fangirl.

 

If anything the blog, right down to the cassette tape graphic audio links, seems hipster. It just screams coffee-shop, horn-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans and band tees. 

 

But she did say she was looking for Teen Titan stuff online. So, maybe she’s a closet fangirl? Santana shakes her head and decides she doesn’t really care to figure it out.  She doesn’t have time for people who can’t wear their own skin – geeky, hipster or trendy - it’s too much drama to deal with people who don’t have it in them to be themselves.

 

The number on the envelope at the top of her screen increases by one and Santana lets out a small sigh. “And so it begins …”  She opens her inbox expecting to find the first wave of commission requests and grimaces when she sees  _LucyInTheSky_  at the top of her list.

 

_LucyInTheSky asked you:_

_I know you_ _’_ _re busy with your commissions so I don_ _’_ _t really expect a reply. It seems, from your livestream and from a rather in-depth review of your blog, that you_ _’_ _re kind of the guru of all things Teen Titan. If you have time, maybe we could chat?_

Santana has the urge to delete the question. She’s not sure why she’s so upset by Lucy’s reblog. It’s not like no one has ever disagreed with her. Of course, when that happens, she just takes it to chat and sets about to change the other person’s mind. The artist narrows her eyes as she presses the “answer” link.

 

_Hey. I don_ _’_ _t have a lot of time but I can always make some to talk about Teen Titans_ _…_ _and more importantly, to discuss Donna Troy and the casting direction that is going to spell disaster. Let me know when you_ _’_ _re around. I_ _’_ _ll be drawing all day so I_ _’_ _m flexible._

            Not even a minute after she sends her message off into cyberspace, the number on her inbox goes up again. “No, fuckin’ way …” Santana whispers to herself as she clicks on the envelope.

 

_LucyInTheSky asked you:_

_I_ _’_ _m on now (same chat room as before). If you_ _’_ _re too busy, that_ _’_ _s okay. I_ _’_ _ll be around until 2 pm (PST) - I have to go to work then. I_ _’_ _ll be working really late so if tomorrow works better for you, then maybe we can figure out something for late morning or early afternoon. I look forward to talking to you. (:_

 “You think you look forward to talking to me …” Santana mutters to herself as she logs into the chat room. “… you have no idea, newbie.”

 

_LilyTattoo has joined SoundsSketchy chat room_

LilyTattoo says  _Hey, newbie. Get that mic of yours working yet?_

DiamondLuce says  _It wasn't broken._

DiamondLuce says  _Thanks for chatting with me. I really wanted to talk to you about what you posted._

LilyTattoo says  _Yeah, about that_ _…_ _wtf?_

DiamondLuce says  _I_ _’_ _m sorry?_

LilyTattoo says  _For what? Second-guessing my opinion about the mis-casting of one of the best female comic book characters of all time or actually thinking that Quinn Fabray is gonna be able carry off the spandex?_

DiamondLuce says  _“_ _I_ _’_ _m sorry_ _”_ _was not an apology. It was an_ _“_ _excuse me_ _”_ _or_ _“_ _I beg your pardon._ _”_

LilyTattoo says  _I beg your pardon? For real? You_ _’_ _re hipster, aren_ _’_ _t you? Let me guess, you_ _’_ _ve got your iTunes up, you_ _’_ _re playing some nice indie pop (please tell me it's Passion Pit), you_ _’_ _ve got your Rivers Cuomo glasses on, some tight jeans_ _–_ _maybe suspenders?_ _–_ _and you're sporting your favorite dirty t-shirt. Right?_

DiamondLuce says _You can think the casting is wrong without belittling the actor._

LilyTattoo says  _You didn_ _’_ _t answer the question. I must be right._

DiamondLuce says  _You_ _’_ _re not right._

LilyTattoo says  _Then why didn_ _’_ _t you answer?_

DiamondLuce says  _Because being called a hipster isn_ _’_ _t a big enough insult for me to address._

LilyTatto says  _Okay, then. Let me see if I have this right: you_ _’_ _ve got a big ol_ _’_ _girl crush on Quinn Fabray and you think she can do anything because she_ _’_ _s got that face, right?_

DiamondLuce says  _I don_ _’_ _t have a girl crush on her. And I never said anything about her face._

LilyTattoo says  _Sure you don_ _’_ _t. And I watched Smallville for the storylines_ _–_ _had no interest at all in Kristin Kreuk._

DiamondLuce says  _That_ _’_ _s you. I_ _’_ _m telling you that I don_ _’_ _t have a crush on Quinn Fabray_ _–_ _but I do think that it_ _’_ _s a good idea for her to try to branch out. She can only do so many historical biopics before she gets stereotyped._

LilyTattoo says _I'm pretty sure that number is zero. Which means it_ _’_ _s too late._

DiamondLuce says  _Perhaps you should reserve judgment until you_ _’_ _ve seen her in the role. You have to admit, you were pretty harsh, even bordering on mean._

LilyTattoo says _Like fuck I was mean! I said she could be Katchoo! That_ _’_ _s a compliment but you probably don_ _’_ _t know that because you_ _’_ _re only into superheroes and villains who wear tights or shoot shit outta their wrists.  Spandex fangirl._

DiamondLuce says  _I honestly don_ _’_ _t know much about any of this._

 LilyTattoo says  _No shit._

DiamondLuce says  _Why are you being so judgmental? I never said I was a_ _“_ _fangirl._ _”_ _I just said I was looking up Teen Titan information._

LilyTattoo says  _You know who looks up Teen Titans? Fangirls. Or girls who are trying to impress a boy_ _–_ _which isn_ _’_ _t the way to go._ _‘_ _Cause if you are trying to get in good with the boyfriend, you go with Batman_ _–_ _maybe show him some Ivy/Harley fanart._

DiamondLuce says  _I don_ _’_ _t have a boyfriend. I don_ _’_ _t have a crush on Quinn Fabray. And I don_ _’_ _t really care if you believe me._

LilyTattoo says  _Yes, you do._

DiamondLuce says  _I really, really don_ _’_ _t._

LilyTattoo says  _If you didn_ _’_ _t care, you would have left. You keep arguing with me. So, either you_ _’_ _re trying to impress a boy OR you_ _’_ _re defending your celebrity girl crush OR you're trying to impress me._

DiamondLuce says  _It's definitely not the latter._

LilyTattoo says  _Wouldn't be the first time. But, whatever. I'm calling celebrity girl-crush. It's the only reason I'll allow for your blind faith in Ms. Fabray's "talents."_

DiamondLuce says  _That you'll allow? Wow. And, I promise you, it's not a celebrity crush. That would be awkward._

LilyTattoo says  _... because ..._

DiamondLuce says  _..._

LilyTattoo says  _Good answer._

DiamondLuce says  _Trust me, it would be awkward. I work in Hollywood._

LilyTattoo says  _Yeah? What do you do?_

DiamondLuce says  _I won't be doing anything if I don't leave soon. Today's my first day - can't be late._

LilyTattoo says  _Alright. If you see our girl Fabray, give her a big ol' smooch from me._

DiamondLuce has left  _SoundsSketchy chat room_

"... 'kay, bye," Santana says to herself, frowning at the screen. "That was kinda rude ..."  She continues to pout as she types furiously.

 

_IAimToMisbehave asked you:_

_Dude. You didn't even say goodbye. Careful, girly. I might start thinking you don't like me or something. Anyway, hope you didn't get fired today. Though, then we'd have more time for me to explain just how wrong you are. Not that I think I need that much time to school you on Donna Troy. You_ _’_ _re stubborn but I have faith I can break you_ _–_ _in a non-mean, non-judgmental way, of course._

With a curt nod, the artist sends her message. “Okay, no more fun,” she tells herself. “Back to work.”  After writing up a quick auction announcement – highest bidder gets bumped to the head of the queue and can request anything as long as she can find a reference for it -  and signing it "may the odds be ever in your favor,” she opens her ask box and reads through the commission requests. About halfway through the list, she decides to tally up the fandoms to see what she’ll be drawing the most.

 

_PLL: |||_

_Doctor Who: |  
Harry Potter: _ ||||

_Once Upon a Time: ||||_

Santana puts a little star in front of that one, her mind already buzzing with ideas for the Swan Queen pieces. She continues to read, adding fandoms and tally marks as she goes, and laughs out loud when she gets to Tina’s request.

 

_MollyNPoo asked you:_

_My commission request (and you can_ _’_ _t say no!) is a redo of what you sent me after your Hangouts session_ _–_ _but put hearts in HIS eyes this time. How_ _’_ _s that for fantasy? But I_ _’_ _m not paying $150 for chibis. Haggle with me._

Before Santana knows it, Tina’s commission is done.  Because the request took so little time and because she feels like it, Santana starts a special project for Tina. There’s no way she’s charging her best friend for this or anything else. That’s crossing a line or something, Santana’s sure.

 

_To: Tina Cohen-Chang [mollyluv@gmail.com]_

_From: Santana Lopez [parkergirl@gmail.com]_

_Subject: You Are Lame._

_[View attachment: ChibiLove.jpg][View attachment: MadeItBetter.jpg]_

 

_Hello, oh Lame One. Here_ _’_ _s a preview of your order. I should charge you $400 simply based on lameness, alone._

_First of all, who requests chibis in a call for art commissions? Just you. Lame +1_

_Then you request the most random ship ever: ChangSquared. There_ _’_ _s only, like, two shippers in the entire_ _‘_ _verse. Lame +2, squared. That_ _’_ _s 4._

_Then you want to haggle with me over the price? Have I ever charged you for a damned thing? No, because I don_ _’_ _t roll that way. Lame +fifty-fuckin-million._

_Do you know what 50,000,005 lame points buys you? Check it out, sister. Your very own, one-of-a-kind, Santana Lopez original TWILIGHT (gag, wretch, hurl) artwork. Cherish it. Covet it. Put it in your will to pass down to your future (and probably also lame) children._

_With more love than I ought to have for someone so lame,_

_Moi. (AKA Me)_

_P.S. Tell me you don_ _’_ _t love the way Jacob and Edward are looking at each other. You know you do._

Santana yawns, looks out of her window and, noticing that it’s dark outside, tries to remember the last time she stood up.  She gets up and stretches, pushing her arms over her head and then running her fingers through her hair. “Red Bull …” she says to her empty room. “Definitely gonna be a Red Bull night.”

 

The artist reaches up to take off her glasses but stops when she sees the number on her inbox has gone up by more than a few. She figures that folks are sending in their bids for the auction. She gave them 42 hours because, well, 42. 

 

After a quick walk around her apartment which, really, is all she can do in the tiny space she calls home, after rummaging through what’s left of her variety pack of Doritos snack bags and grabbing one of the many Red Bull cans stacked on the top shelf of her small refrigerator, and after a quick bathroom break (like standing up, she can’t remember the last time she took a bathroom break), Santana’s back at her desk.

 

Glasses on.

 

Hair pulled back into a high pony. 

 

Game face.

 

She’s ready to do this shit.

 

_LucyInTheSky asked you:_

_I don_ _’_ _t know if you plan to post the bids as they come in but I trust you_ _’_ _ll somehow keep us informed what the highest is so that, if need be, we can up our bids. Put me down for $1,000._

Santana’s mouth hangs open as she reads the dollar amount in Lucy’s message.

 

_IAimToMisbehave asked you:_

_You_ _’_ _ve never done anything like this_ _–_ _it_ _’_ _s obvious- so here_ _’_ _s a tip: Bidding usually starts at, like, $25. Highs usually go to $150 or something. You wanna take your bid back? Or was it a typo, maybe? Aren_ _’_ _t you supposed to be workin_ _’_ _late? Don_ _’_ _t get yourself fired or you won_ _’_ _t be able to make good on your bid._

Not even two minutes after the artist fires off her message a reply hits her inbox.

 

_LucyInTheSky asked you:_

_I_ _’_ _m good for it_ _–_ _this job or not. And, while I_ _’_ _m still getting used to the keyboard on my new phone, that wasn_ _’_ _t a typo. $1,000 is my bid and no, I_ _’_ _m not taking it back. It secures my place as highest bidder and that means you_ _’_ _ll be drawing Donna Troy for me. And since you said it could be ANYTHING, let_ _’_ _s make it the film version_ _–_ _Quinn Fabray as Donna Troy. I heard they_ _’_ _re already talking sequels. Consider it me doing my part to get you acclimated to the new Donna Troy._

Santana leans back heavily in her chair and blows out an exasperated breath. She takes off her glasses and idly tosses them on her desk. Knowing that no one is going to beat that bid, she closes her eyes and pushes her fingers into the bridge of her nose.

 

“Well, fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

_IAimToMisbehave:_

_Note to Cool People (everyone else - leave)_

 

_I have the most awesome followers - EVER._

_And by awesome, I mean most imaginative, supportive and – really, guys, where did you all get money?! I have decided to picture each and every one of you racing around in Mini Coopers while being chased by Edward Norton. (Krak, you're Napster, just sayin')._

_The unfortunate news is that, because you’re all so awesome (see above), I’m going to have to close requests again – and soon. (Pretty sure you all got your shots in, but just in case). I have enough to keep me busy through the end times, whether brought on by zombies, nuclear war or the invention of a device that plays nothing but Andrew Lloyd Weber songs as sung by those creepy, little Oompa Loompas._

_Nightmare fodder, ain’t it? You’re welcome._

_A lot of you have been asking me for updates on Sal. So, here’s the skinny: They’ve run a bazillion and a half tests and he’s seen about the same number of oncologists. The money you guys helped me raise is going toward getting Sal to the Ronald McDonald House in Indiana for treatment and for making sure that Sidekick Ric and my sister-in-law have a place to crash so that they can be with him. I’m gonna miss them like crazy but this is his best chance._

_The doctors are like those magic eight ball things. You know, you shake ‘em and they say “ask again later” or “outlook hazy.” Just because they won’t say anything super positive doesn’t mean they are giving up, though. So, that’s something, right?_

_Feelin’ super lucky, kids! All thanks to you._

_There isn’t a thank you big enough._

_[Edited] I felt like I had to draw an Oompa Loompa wearing a Phantom mask._

_[Click me to see amazing artwork of the nightmare-inducing kind!]_

 

_You’re welcome. And sweet dreams._

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And there it was. Mike and Tina hitting the “like” button as though they were on some synchronized Tumblr team. Santana chuckles to herself as her mind provides her with a stunning image of her two best friends, in matching track suits and beanies, each with an iPhone in one hand and a wireless mouse in the other. 

 

That’s a picture for another time, though. Right now, Santana’s settling in for at least two more hours of work on Lucy’s monstrosity of a request, maybe followed by a small break, and then pushing out some of the easier chibi-style requests. She figures she’ll be in bed no later than 2:00 a.m. – which is a step up from the rest of the week when she saw the sun rise. Or she would have if she bothered to open the shades.

 

Between her “real” job and this fundraiser, Santana’s pretty sure she’s going to end up with carpal tunnel or maybe, if she doesn’t start taking more breaks, a mechanical hand not unlike the one that gets melted in Terminator 2. 

 

She holds up her left hand in front of her face and wiggles her fingers.

 

Still working.

 

Must be time to draw.

 

And don’t start thinking about Sarah Connor doing pull-ups in the nuthouse. There’s no time right now for distractions.

 

The artist double-checks that she’s got her references laid out, not that she needs one for Donna Troy. She’s been drawing her since she could first grasp a crayon. No, it’s the other images that litter her desk that Santana’s checking and double-checking.

 

Quinn Fabray with long hair from an old headshot.  Quinn Fabray with short hair from a movie still. Quinn Fabray at the SAG awards with some dude with gelled out hair and who looks old enough to be her father. Oh! And Quinn Fabray in a cheerleading uniform, standing atop a pyramid. Thank fuck for dumbshits who post celebrity yearbook pictures.

 

It’s almost a superhero pose, you know, if she had one of her arms bent more and, like, she was flying. Or shooting lasers from her eyes. Or … something.

 

Just as her pencil touches the paper, her phone makes a horrifyingly loud noise, causing Santana to jump. “Goddammit,” she says as she rubs a piece of eraser gum over the stray mark. She picks up her phone and her nose wrinkles as she reads the text from Tina:

 

_: Lucy is looking for you in the chat room. You just posted – where are you?_

 

Not wanting to waste any more time, Santana calls her friend, puts the call on hands-free and, the second she hears the phone pick up, she starts talking, “You’re texting me for a newbie? What the fuck, dude?”

 

“It’s so obvious she likes you,” Tina replies with a giggle, deciding not to actually address Santana’s direct question. “She’s always liking your posts, she requested a commission and she even totally over-bid just to win your auction …”

 

“So, uh, that means you and Mikey like me too, huh?” Santana interrupts with a laugh. “I’m flattered but I don’t do three-ways … at least not when one of the ways leads to dude parts, you know?”

 

“Oh my god, shut up, Santana!”  Her best friend’s voice rises to an almost-squeal.

 

“Just means more Mikey for you, Teeny,” Santana adds. “So, what’s Lucille want with me?”

 

Tina is quiet for a moment. “Do you think that’s her real name? Like, her parents named her Lucille but she goes by Lucy because it’s a cute-girl name?”

 

“I don’t think about her enough to have had this ever cross my mind.”

 

“I bet she’s cute. She sounds cute.”

 

Santana stops drawing and sighs. “If you want me to draw a picture of you mooning over the newbie, just ask. Otherwise, stop interrupting my work flow with your drool.”

 

“Just because I appreciate femslash doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian, Santana. We’ve been over this …” Tina actually sounds a little irritated. Of course, that only makes Santana’s mood lift.

 

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Teeny,” the artist replies before a sudden thought stops her. “Wait, she  _sounds_  cute?”

 

“Mhm,” Tina replies. “She’s got her mic on tonight. No camera, so I can’t say anything about cute-girl status. Anyway, Mike doesn’t seem fazed by her yet, so that’s good.”

 

Santana chuckles. “Please, she’d have to be the living manifestation of Sailor Moon dressed as slave-Leia and have exclusive access to the TARDIS. Or, you know, be you. Whichever.” 

 

“Whatever,” her best friend replies. “Are you going to come to chat?”

 

“No.”

 

“But Lucy was waiting for you …”

           

“… waiting for me to do what?” Santana replies distractedly, about two seconds away from tuning the conversation out completely.

 

“I don’t know. Talk to her, maybe?” Tina sighs and then whines, “Come hang out with us. Your loyal geek followers miss you …”

 

Santana actually laughs loudly at this. “First of all, I talked with you this morning. Second, I’ve been busy getting these pieces done and, last but not least – Lucille isn’t a geek. She’s a hipster. Spread the word.”  

 

Tina sighs much more dramatically than Santana prefers. She really hates it because it reminds her of this girl in high school who was in her study hall and who, besides being the approximate size of a Cabbage Patch Kid, would constantly annoy her by sighing or huffing or making some kind of airy noise whenever she was frustrated. 

 

Santana would use her study time drawing this girl, her long hair curled at the ends and her full lips pulled down into a ridiculous pout whenever her overly-curly-haired boyfriend did something to upset her (which was nearly every class session).

 

She really didn’t like that guy. His mouth was fuckin’ huge and whenever he smiled, she couldn’t help but think of the very unhelpful, and quite irritating, Cheshire Cat in  _Alice in Wonderland._ How that girl could kiss him on the mouth, she’d never understand.

 

Regardless, whenever Santana hears someone sigh like that, she’s back in study hall, staring at the obviously unhappy – and comically and endearingly tiny – girl and wondering what it would take to make her smile. It was a challenge. And the artist-to-be never backed down from a challenge, though she would be a little disappointed at how unchallenging this one would turn out to be.

 

One flattering drawing of the girl – her smile wide, her eyes with a sparkle and her hair flowing behind her as though she was some kind of cross between a superhero and a supermodel – one drawing, unsigned, crammed through a locker vent and the girl was all smiles for a week straight. 

 

What Santana expected, she wasn’t sure. But she can’t say she wasn’t at least mildly frustrated that the girl didn’t inquire about the artist behind the note or, you know, dump her douchebag of a boyfriend while she searched for that one person who was able to make her smile.

 

“Cut it out, Teeny,” Santana warns. “You know I hate it when you do that.” 

 

Tina laughs. “Only because you end up giving in.” She waits a beat. “I’ll tell everyone you’ll be on in a couple of minutes.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Santana frowns and nods, hanging up without saying goodbye. She rationalizes that it’s not  _that_  rude since she’s about to talk to her again, anyway.

 

The artist isn’t, of course, someone to be pushed around, so she takes her time getting a Red Bull from her fridge and even takes an extra few minutes to freshen up: brush her hair, put on her comfy yoga pants, apply a little lip gloss … She smirks when she hears her cell phone alerting her to a new text message (which she decides to ignore as she logs into the chat room).

 

"Keep your pants on, Tina," she says once her chat room list populates and the video feeds start. "I'm here."

 

"It's about time, what were you doing?" her best friend asks.

 

Santana chuckles."Pissing you off. Did it work?"

 

There's a round of laughs, one of which the artist doesn't recognize.

 

"It's nice of you to join us," a soft voice says. Santana feels like her ears are perked up - not unlike her brother's puppy when he asks if she wants a hamburger. The voice is somehow shy and teasing at the same time.

 

The artist clears her throat. "Lucille, I presume?"

 

"Um, no." The last word is drawn out before it's followed by, "It's just Lucy."

 

Tina is beaming at her camera. "Hey, San, did you know that Lucy lives in L.A., too? Do you know where WeHo is? I've never heard of it."

 

"That's because you live in Surftown, USA," the artist replies. "And yes, I've heard of it. And so have you - West Hollywood. Anyway, WeHo is like ..." Santana's voice drifts as she tries to come up with an analogy her friend will understand. "... your Hillcrest. You know, hipsters and homos."

 

“Wow, okay,” Lucy replies, sounding something close to offended. “I’ve never heard that description before.”

 

“You’re gonna tell me that the majority of your neighbors aren’t gay men with Yorkies and, like, a brood of adopted kids? What the hell is it with gay men and Yorkies, anyway?”

 

Lucy laughs. “Actually, my neighbors are two lovely women who have no kids and, as far as I know, aren’t in a relationship.”

 

“As far as you know …” Santana adjusts her webcam so that she, and not her drawing tablet, is in focus. With a smirk, she looks directly into the camera, raises her brows and says, “So, if  _they_  aren’t the gay neighbors, then maybe y -“

 

Tina quickly interrupts. “Santana, cut it out.” She frowns at her friend. “And lay off the Red Bull. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

 

The artist chuckles, raises the thin aluminum can to her lips and winks as she takes a long drink. She lowers it only slightly before she cocks her eyebrow and says, “Power is at four hundred percent.”

 

“Iron Man,” the soft feminine voice says. When Santana raises her other brow in interest (or is that surprise?), Lucy continues, “Avengers, right?”

 

Santana replies, “Technically, it was Jarvis. Did you study up before signing on tonight?”

 

“Don’t get a big head, it wasn’t for you.” Lucy’s voice has a slight edge to it. “I’ve got a stack of movies I have to watch for work. That was one of them.”

 

“Wait,” Mike squints at his camera and shakes his head as though trying to get his mind to grasp the inconsistencies in space-time continuum lore (one of his favorite debates). “You’re getting paid to watch the movies?” His face lights up. “That’s so cool.” 

 

“What did you think of it?” Tina rests her cheek on her palm. “You can start with Thor because … y’know, Thor.”

 

Mike frowns and Santana, catching his crestfallen look, teases, “Blonde is so not your type, Teeny, and you know it.”

 

“It’s yours, though.” Tina smiles smugly into the camera. “I saw your desk before you moved the camera, San. Try to deny it, but I think you’re starting to warm up to the idea of Quinn Fabray playing your beloved Donna Troy.”

 

“She’s just another pretty face. One,” the artist says, rolling her eyes, “that I’ve been forced to look at thanks to our new pal, Lucille.”

 

“Lucy.”

 

“Payback’s a bitch.” Santana rolls her eyes again and re-adjusts her camera. “Preview time. What do you think, Lucille?”

 

It’s quiet for a moment. Santana checks the room’s notifications to see if the newbie logged out but her name is still there. Everyone waits to find out if Lucy is going say something to intentionally piss off their friend. It seems like she’s really good at that – and enjoys it, too.

 

A private message box pops up on the artist’s screen.

 

DiamondLuce:  _I know you prefer not to have to read but … anyway, I think it looks amazing. Thank you for not making a joke out of it._

LilyTattoo:  _$1K is nothing to joke about. My job is to draw what you asked for._

DiamondLuce:  _I guess. But you really outdid yourself._

LilyTattoo:  _Calm yourself, it’s not even done yet. I’ve got, like, two more hours before I’m calling it. Maybe I should send it to you in a sleeve. Don’t want you to get drool all over it._

 

“Are you private messaging?” Tina accuses.

 

LilyTattoo:  _Tell them we’re not._

 

Lucy waits a moment and then responds, “Sorry about the delay, I had to get up for a second. What’d I miss?”

 

No one questions her and everyone decides to speak at once to help catch up the newbie.  The artist smiles, impressed.   
  
DiamondLuce:  _So, why did I do that?_

LilyTattoo:  _Because I asked you to?  
_

DiamondLuce:  _Except you didn’t ask_.

LilyTattoo:  _I didn’t use all caps. Same thing.  
_

DiamondLuce _: Since I don’t have my camera on, I think you should know that I just rolled my eyes at you.  
_

LilyTattoo:  _Eh. I get that a lot._

DiamondLuce:  _I bet you do._

LilyTattoo:  _So, why don’t you have your camera on?_

 

Santana thought the response time, up to this point, had been satisfactory. It was like a nice, easy-going tennis volley – until someone dropped the ball. The artist listens to the others talk, just in case she missed a comment or question that would take Lucy’s attention away from her.

           

Nothing.

              
LilyTattoo:  _Most people say “brb” when they go away, you know._

DiamondLuce _: I didn’t go anywhere.  
_

LilyTattoo:  _… okay …  
_

DiamondLuce:  _I was thinking about how to answer your question.  
_

LilyTattoo:  _I tend to go with the truth. But, you know, if you need some time to come up with something, don’t make it too elaborate. I’ll know you’re lying if you do._

DiamondLuce:  _I’m not going to lie to you. Why would I do that?_

LilyTattoo:  _The internet is full of strange people._  

DiamondLuce:  _Are you suggesting I’m strange?_

LilyTattoo:  _Look, it’s not like I know you or anything.  
_

LilyTattoo: _Are you grossly deformed?_

LilyTattoo:  _Because, really, it doesn’t stop DetCom’s brother from vlogging his pasty, white man’s fro for all to see._

DiamondLuce:  _I’m not deformed.  
_

LilyTattoo: _You could be. I mean, I’ve never seen you._

DiamondLuce:  _So your immediate thought is: deformed?_

LilyTattoo:  _I read a lot of comic books.  
_

Lily Tattoo:  _OMG. Two-face, right? You could totally turn your pretty face toward the camera and no one will ever know about your radically malformed and mutated other side._

DiamondLuce:  _Your insanity is entertaining._

 

“What are you even doing, Santana?” Tina asks, exasperated. “You’re not drawing, you’re not talking … “

 

“I’m thinking.” Santana replies drolly.

 

Her best friend laughs. “We’re supposed to believe that?”

 

“I’m drawing fuckin’ Quinn Fabray as my favorite comic book heroine of all time,” the artist defends. “That takes some thought. I don’t want it to look like shit, okay?”  

 

Lucy immediately clears her throat. “I think it already looks amazing. I’m looking forward to seeing it completed.”  
           

“Me too.” Santana laughs humorlessly. “My hand’s killin’ me.” She shakes out her wrist a couple of times before getting back to work and leaving her friends to chat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those who don't know "Red Shirt Day" is Disneyland's "unofficial" Gay Day

_IAimToMisbehave:_

_ Backstage Hollywood  _

_ “ _ _ Teen Titans Shooting Begins  _ _ – _ _ Sans Robin!? _ _ ” _

_ by Ivan Stokes _

_ Indie fans hoping to see Finn Hudson make his mainstream debut will have to wait. Producers have confirmed rumors that indie-star Hudson will not play Robin in what is likely to be the next big comic book movie,  _ _ ‘ _ _ Teen Titans. _ _ ’ _

_ Representatives for Hudson cite scheduling conflicts. _

_ Word is already spreading that the role may go to a certain Hollywood bad boy  _ _ … _

_ This casting news follows the announcement that ex-boy band member, Sam Evans, will be taking on his first acting role as Garth (Aqua Lad) alongside television heavy-hitter and supernatural heart-throb, Kurt Hummel as Wally West (Kid Flash). _

_Things that are amazeballs about this:_

 

  * _Kurt Hummel as Kid Flash. You_ _’_ _re kidding yourself if you think you can come up with a better actor for this role. Dude has super-speed down! (See_ _‘_ _Light Chasers_ _’_ _tag for clips of Hummel_ _’_ _s speedy stunts and acrobatics)._
  * _Finn Hudson **not** being cast as Robin. I get casting against type but c_ _’_ _mon. The guy_ _’_ _s a tree trunk who only plays drummers, tattoo artists with a heart of gold and_ _…_ _uh_ _…_ _really, that_ _’_ _s all I know about him._
  * _Sam (Trouty Mouth) Evans is going to be Aqua Lad. That means he gets to say things like "Great Guppies!_ _”_ _Irony or perfect casting? Your call._
  * _Just came up with another thing I know about Hudson: his default facial expression for every emotion is_ _“_ _constipated._ _”_ _Do we really want a Robin who doesn_ _’_ _t get enough fiber in his diet?_



  * _MollyLane reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: OMG. Aqua/Flash slash! I already ship it._
  * _TweedleDiz reblogged this from IAimToMisbehave: Sam is the one who does the body rolls, right? He_ _’_ _s my favorite._
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Santana is mid-stretch when her cell phone rings, the personalized tone causing the artist to smile. “Hey Dizzy-doo, what’s up?”

 

“Meet me at the castle tonight?” a light, clear voice asks. “Bring your best red shirt.”

 

“I don’t know if I can make it this time, Britt,” The artist says before she laughs and shakes her head. “Anyway, don’t you ever get sick of that place? You’re there even on days you don’t work.”

 

The first time Santana met Brittany, the other girl was dressed in a monkey suit and hopping around with some kind of gourd-on-a-stick contraption. Santana had no idea, of course, who was in the Rafiki costume. All she knew she was that she was creeped out and getting really sick of being followed around Main Street USA by a blue-assed, fake monkey sporting a creepy pedo-smile.

 

She’d turned around, placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes into best bitch-glare. Just as she was about to light into the pervy furry, she heard a soft, whispered, “You’re super pretty like Pocahontas.”

 

The rest, as they say, is history.

 

It’s quiet on the other end of the line and Santana raises her brows as she waits for a reply.

 

“But, it’s the happiest place on earth,” her friend says simply.

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

“You’re really not coming?” Santana can practically hear the pout in her friend’s voice. “It’s red shirt day, San.”

 

“I forgot, Britts, I’m sorry.” The artist sighs as she explains, “I promised to help someone with something for work.”

 

“Well, if it’s for your work …” Brittany slowly says.

 

“Not mine. Though, I’m pretty close to caught up – which is kind of amazing considering the number of commissions that came in. I didn’t even realize it hit that many reblogs.” The artist rolls her wrist as she raises her shoulder to press her phone against her ear.

 

“You don’t need a lot,” her friend explains. “If you get a celebrity backing you, you’ve reached a whole new level. True fact - no one was interested in Double Stuf Oreos until Morgan Freeman mentioned them in an interview.”

 

Santana squints as she tries to think of any rumor even close to what her friend is telling her. She shakes her head and chuckles to herself. “I’ll let you know what that’s like when I get a celebrity cheerleader. Until then …”

 

“I like when you’re modest. It’s cute.” Brittany says randomly. “I have to go. Pluto’s due out at Carthay Circle soon.”

 

Not long after they exchange quick goodbyes, Santana logs onto her chat room and sighs when she finds it empty. She checks the time and, seeing that she’s a little early, starts messing with her iTunes music (again).

 

She orders and re-orders film scores first by composer, then by film title and then by composer again. Then she turns her attention to the few Disney soundtracks that Brittany gifted to her through iTunes as payment for various drawings.

 

About halfway through “Something There,” she hears a giggle and she quickly switches windows.

 

“I thought you stood me up or something,” Santana says, tilting her head as she squints at the video feed. “Wait – is your camera on?”

 

Lucy laughs softly from somewhere to the right of the camera and replies, “And my speakers, too. Seems like you’re preparing to join Quinn Fabray as a Disney Princess.”

 

“I’m multi-talented, what can I say?” 

 

“Just say that you aren’t going to quiz me on all the reading you sent me,” Lucy says. “I have to admit, it was a little overwhelming.”

 

“But you read it all, right?” Santana asks. “You had, like, two weeks. And, if you didn’t do it, this is going to be a short conversation … that I’m having with a lamp. Why am I talking to a lamp?”

 

“I kind of have my hands full right now at work and,” Lucy lets out a little breath and, from her perch on the makeup chair looks at her computer.  “I asked someone I work with to sign me in and he didn’t know how to do voice without video.”

 

Santana frowns. “So, I’m supposed to talk to a lamp … ”

 

“I also have … "  Lucy takes note of her surroundings. "... a potted plant, a stuffed elephant and …  a word-a-day calendar. Which do you prefer?”

 

“Depends. What’s today’s word?”

 

“Se chamailler.”

 

Santana stares at the lamp for a moment before busting up laughing. “Jesus, Lucille, you’re such a fuckin’ hipster.”

 

“It’s Lucy,” she reminds Santana. “I recently had the opportunity to travel and –“

 

Santana frowns when she hears a door open and a soft murmuring interrupt the conversation. She can’t make out what’s being said until she hears Lucy giggle and whisper, “No, let's get started. It's fine.” 

 

“Lucille …” the artists says slowly.

 

Santana hears a snigger, a muffled slapping sound and then a harshly whispered, “Ow.”

 

“It’s Lucy, Santana. Lucy.”

 

“Yeah, I know. So, who you talking to there, Lucille? ‘Cause I could be hanging with my girl, Pluto, tonight. But I kinda brushed her off to school you.”

 

Before she knows it, there’s some guy, bent at the waist, waving his hand at her in an oddly emphatic and also, somehow, delicate manner. The sudden movement makes Santana’s eyes widen and she instinctively jumps back.

 

“Uh, hey,” she say slowly.

 

“I’m Eli - one half of the hair and makeup crew.” His smile is wide, and punctuated with snake bite piercings, and Santana can’t help but smile back at him. "And you're the resident artist and final word in all things _Teen Titans_ ..."

 

“Hold up. _You_ _’_ _re_ the technophobe who doesn’t know how to start an audio chat?”

 

Lucy laughs as her friend smirks.

 

“Oh, honey, no.” He holds up his hands and, now that they aren’t moving around so quickly, Santana can see that they are gloved. “I was too busy mixing up potions to be bothered to push buttons. Right, uh,” he smirks over his shoulder, “Lucille?”

 

Lucy frowns, grabs the nearest object to her and chucks it at her colleague.

 

Santana laughs when he squeals and dives for the floor.

 

“Beware flying mascara,” Eli says as he pops back into view and winks at the camera.

 

“It was Kurt, actually,” Lucy says over her friend. “He thought he knew what he was doing because he did a Ustream chat – once.”

 

“Once,” Eli repeats with disdain. “Boyfriend may be hot, but don’t he know it.” 

 

Lucy rolls her eyes, tilts her head and calmly clarifies, “Just because he didn’t hit on you … "

 

Santana listens for a moment and then clears her throat. “Yes, so, this is super fun but I’m missing red shirt day to go over some of this stuff with Miss Camera-Shy, so … can we chit-chat later, kids? Or, you know, reschedule when school’s back in session?” 

 

Eli frowns comically, turns to his friend and mouths "camera shy?" before giving the artist a friendly smile. “ _Lucille_ is all yours, professor.”

 

“If you think I’m calling you professor, you’re wrong,” Lucy interjects.

 

“Boss, is fine, too,” Santana says. “I think it’ll sound great when you say, ‘yes, I read my homework, boss.’ Give it a try.”

 

“Yes, I read my homework,” Lucy repeats. There’s a beat before she finishes, “There’s no way in hell I’m calling you boss.”

 

“Captain?”

 

“No.”

 

“Chief?”

 

“No.”

 

“Supreme Leader?”

 

“Are you serious?” 

 

“You sure you don’t like ‘captain’? I _really_ like that one.”

 

“Santana …”

 

“Alright, Ms. Lamp,” Santana says as she rolls her eyes and frowns at the light fixture she’s being forced to talk to now that Eli has disappeared from view. “That feels so formal for acquaintances like us. May I call you Lucille?"

 

"No."

 

"Great!" Santana continues, smiling brightly and quite ingenuously. "So, Lucille, Donna Troy is awesome because … go.”

 

“She doesn’t need an invisible jet to fly or a lasso to get the job done?”

 

Eli stares at Lucy, his mouth open.

 

Lucy rolls her eyes and pulls an unplugged curling iron into her lap. As Santana talks, she presses the button that opens the device and, before she even realizes it, she's opening and closing it in time with the other girl's words.

 

“Well, shit, not only did you read, but you also kinda slammed Wonder Woman.” Santana actually sounds impressed. “But you forgot, also, that she’s the shit because she’s the only woman in a group of men, can totally hold her own and, on occasion, save their sorry asses from impending doom. Little ‘d’ doom, not big ‘d’ Doom. He shows up later.”

 

“Okay. And you wanted me to start reading the other two series because … ?” Lucy asks.

 

“Seriously? You can’t find a connection between Donna Troy, Katina Choovanski and Promethea?’ Santana sighs. “I’ma ‘bout to assign you a ten-page paper on female power in comic books, Lampy.”

 

“Lucy.”

 

“S’what I said, right Eli?”

 

“No comment,” the bubbly boy says with a chuckle. “She’s glaring at me. Not to mention, she’s messing with a curling iron right now.”

 

“Please, it’s unplugged,” Lucy replies drolly.  

 

“She thinks I’m worried about getting burned. Cute, isn’t she?” Eli asks.

 

Santana smirks. “I don’t know. She kinda has a weird shaped head. And, like, her body is too thin, y’know, for the size of said weirdly-shaped head.”

 

Eli pops back into the frame, this time far enough back that Santana can see most of his body. His tattooed arm is draped around the lamp and his previously white gloves are now stained with large dark spots. “I like you, Captain Santana.”

 

“New. Best. Friend!” the artist shouts and points to her screen. “Sorry, Lucille, you’re so far out of the running now that I’m not even sure acquaintance is gonna work out. I might have to regress to Ms. Lamp, again.” 

 

“Get back here and help me finish up, Brutus.” Lucy rolls her eyes before glaring at her friend.

 

“Ta, Cap!” Eli wiggles his gloved fingers at Santana and hops back out of view.

 

Lucy holds the curling iron up and raises one eyebrow. "Stop encouraging her."

 

“I don't need his encouragement. Your reactions are encouragement enough. And, really? Did you seriously just go with a Shakespeare reference? Because, there’s about a ten million references you could have chosen in the Jossverse alone.”

 

Lucy sighs. “I have no idea what a Jossverse is but I have a sneaking suspicion I’m about to find out.”

 

“Nope.” Santana crosses her arms over her chest.

 

“Nope?” the other girl repeats, confused.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“El nopo.”

 

“That’s not even Spanish.”

 

“I’m half Puerto Rican,” Santana informs Lucy. “What are you?”

 

“White girl!” Eli supplies, able to move only a second too late to dodge Lucy's push at his hip.  He laughs as he  playfully whines, “Ow! What? You are!” 

 

Santana laughs. “Right, so, le nope.”

 

“You’re half Puerto Rican and half French?”

 

“Uh, no. What gave you that idea?” Santana rolls her eyes at her webcam.

 

Before Lucy can answer, the opening song from _The Lion King_ blasts from Santana’s phone. The artist jumps and clutches her chest. “Shit!” She blows out a breath and tacks a quick “hang on” onto her sentence.

 

“Hey Dizzy-doo, thought you were getting ready to do it up, doggy-style,” Santana says, not bothering to get up from her seat or shield her conversation from her online chat.  “No shit? And you didn’t get in trouble? Text it over.”

 

The conversation doesn’t last much longer. Brittany has to suit up again and, really, she just called to share her excitement with someone who would get it. Apparently, none of her fellow cast mates are on the same wavelength. Like, ever.

 

“Eli! ... and the other one ...” the artist calls out after she ends the call. “Check this out …” She holds up her phone to the camera to show them the photo her friend texted.  “Seriously, this girl is one of the coolest people you’ll never meet.”

 

Eli's hunched form pops onscreen and he squints at the computer screen. “Hold the phone! Pluto’s gay?”

 

“No, but the girl inside him is …” Santana trails off. “Well, she says she’s half-gay but, you know.”

 

 “Half-gay?” Lucy questions.

 

“Like on her dad’s side or something?” Eli jokes.

 

“I dunno, she’s fluid or something.”

 

"What are you looking at over there? I can't see ..." Lucy says.

 

Eli frowns. "Stop squinting. You look ridiculous."

 

"Here I'll text it to you," Santana replies as she types on her phone and begins explaining the picture.

 

Eli's eyes widen and he shoots a look to the girl in his chair. When Lucy's phone buzzes, his mouth drops open and he points to the device.

 

As Lucy looks at the text, Eli rushes over and whispers, "You gave her your number?"

 

“ ... totally busted into Pluto’s holiday gear a little early to celebrate red shirt – or scarf – day and took this picture with a guest’s flag. “  She’s pulls her phone away from the camera and looks at it, smiling and shaking her head.  When she looks up, she's faced with the lamp - again. “Uh, anyway, she's kinda awesome.” 

 

Eli, realizing that the girl is done with her explanation, clicks his tongue and teases. “Captain Santana’s got herself a first-mate!”

 

“Hardly.” The artist puts her phone down. “I love her, don’t get me wrong, but – “ she wrinkles her nose “- we’re not like that.”

 

“I thought you said she’s awesome,” Lucy says.

 

“She can be awesome without me wanting to get all up on her." 

 

Santana is met with silence. She sighs. “She's not my Francine. So, anyway ... if you didn't read what I sent you, then you won't get that."

 

"I read enough to get it." Lucy's about to say something more when there's a knock on her door.

 

"How much longer, E? The camera crew just finished setting up and they want to come in and do a little lighting for the B.T.S." A man steps in front of the camera. He's close enough to the open laptop that the view is narrowed to his large mid-section and the walkie-talkie hanging from his belt.

 

Eli runs his fingers through Lucy's short hair. "Just a quick rinse and blow and then we'll be done."

 

"Ten?"

 

"Eight," Eli answers firmly.

 

Santana takes a screenshot because, really, no one's talking to her and what the hell else can she do? Also, it might make a good reference if ever she does a sketch from a Hobbit's point of view of a fat dude wearing a walkie-talkie. She takes another shot just as the man moves out of the way and Santana grimaces, knowing that she now has to go through her all of her screenshots to delete the one she just accidentally took of the damned lamp. 

 

"Hey, S," Lucy calls out. "I think I'm going to have to get going."

 

"I gathered." Santana doesn't say anything about the other girl shortening her name. She figures she can let it slide - once.

 

"And hey, thanks for sending me all of that stuff."

 

"Yeah, well. You know, getting someone to read Terry or Alan Moore is, like, my calling or something. I'm doing God's work, y'know." Santana says matter-of-factly as she continues to scroll through her folder of Skype screenshots. She holds back a giggle when she finds one of a giant Totoro plush sitting in Mike's chair, complete with headphones, and a can of Mountain Dew (bendy straw included).

 

"Saint Santana," Lucy says, laughing. "Right."

 

Eli waltzes over and smiles sweetly into the camera. "I'm stealing your Lucille away. We don't want to be caught unprepared when the cameras roll in. So, maybe we'll talk again, Cap."

 

"Aye, aye, E." Santana winks as she salutes. "Don't let 'er bring you down, man."

 

"I'm right here," Lucy reminds them.

 

"Yeah, I can see your head glowing ... it's kind of creepy."

 

After a short rustling sound, the waistband of a pair of skinny jeans with a tucked in tank top appears in front of the camera. The image doesn't last long before a pale hand, silver ring circling its middle finger, is thrust in front of the camera, taking up a good portion of the screen.

 

Santana takes another screenshot. She's pretty sure she'll be able to find a use for it in the future. Maybe a special treat for Lucy - a gift of sorts to commemorate their first video chat. Her mind is already reeling with images of hipster floor lamps.

 

"I'd like to say it's been a pleasure ..." Lucy says.

 

"... yeah, yeah. I know the punchline." Santana smirks. "Bug ya' later, Lucille."

 

Eli rushes over the second the call is disconnected. "You _gave_ her your personal number?"

 

"She's not going to give it out. Besides, she's doesn't even know who I am," Lucy explains, touching his arm gently.

 

"And you don't think she's going to start putting it together?" her friend asks as he ushers her to the rinsing sink. Once she's seated and he's started to run the water through her hair, he adds, "You could just tell her ..."

 

"Um, no."

 

"Because ..."

 

"Because she hates Quinn Fabray, Eli," Lucy states. "She thinks that Quinn Fabray is just another talentless, pretty face whose non-talent is ignored because of her pretty face."

 

Her friend pulls her to sit up and frowns at her use of the third person. "And?"

 

"And what?"

 

"Why do you care what some graphic designer-slash-fan artist thinks? You didn't get where you are by listening to other people. God knows you never listened to me." Eli ruffles her wet hair and laughs. "Well, you did that one time about the hair cut."

 

"I _don't_ care what she thinks."

 

Eli rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's totally obvious, sweetie." He pulls her up and reaches for the hair dryer. "Just think about it."

 

Lucy sighs. "Eli, she's like a consultant. We talk about comic books and people who fly and wear spandex." Her hazel eyes meet his. "That's all."

 

"Mhm," he hums as he switches on the dryer. "You keep telling yourself that, sweetie." 


	6. Chapter 6

“Alright, let’s get the steady cam in and make sure there’s room to move around,” a man calls out knocking on the trailer door and entering at the same time. He walks over to Quinn and reaches out his hand, “Hi, Quinn. My name’s Andy and I’m directing this spot. Ivan will be here soon to catch up with you.  Until then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go over what I’ve got in mind.”

 

Quinn nods, a soft smile on her lips, and pulls a shirt over her tank top, buttoning it halfway before shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Andy.”

 

He gives her a tight smile and points in the direction of the door. “Okay, you’ll start outside, bring us in with some ‘welcome to my trailer’ talk and then Ivan will ask you some questions about the steps you’re taking to become Donna Troy. Hair, comics, training, blah blah and all that crap, yeah?” He scans the room, his eyes on Eli’s messy workstation. “Don’t clean that up.”

 

“Yeah.” Eli rolls his eyes and scoffs. “I didn’t plan to. I have an assistant for that.”

 

“Good. It says ‘we’re working’ …” Andy says, nodding to no one in particular.

 

“Actually, it says ‘Eli’s a big friggin slob but can get away with it because he’s the best colorist this side of PCH’,” a voice booms out from the doorway. “Am I right or am I right?”

 

“Isn’t the other side of PCH the ocean?” Eli grins as he claps the other man on the back. “Great to see you, Ivan. But, oh no, honey.  Seeing those roots is not so great.” He grimaces and shudders.

 

Ivan brings his free hand up and runs it over his gelled hair as he frowns deeply. “Why don’t you call and set up an appointment with my girl?”

 

Quinn wrinkles her nose as she eyes up the newest addition to her trailer. He’s actually quite a bit shorter than she remembers. His gear, though, is almost exactly the same: suit pants, pink shirt and skinny tie.

 

“Your girl?” she questions.

 

“Yeah, you know,” Ivan replies, giving the actor what she's sure is supposed to be a winning smile. “The girl I pay to carry around an iPhone and make sure I have food and clean clothes - y'know, my girl.”

 

“And you don’t think that’s condescending at all?” Quinn asks, one eyebrow quirking up.

 

Ivan shrugs. “She doesn’t mind. In fact …” he takes a step closer, smirking at her. “I think, of all of my personal assistants, there was only one who complained about that title.”

 

“And I will continue to complain until you find a new way to refer to the person who makes it possible for you to do,” she waves vaguely, “whatever it is you do.”

 

“Just hug me already, Fabray.” He frowns pitifully as he holds his arms out. “Or I might think you don’t love me, anymore. You did ditch me, after all, to become a star.”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes and steps into his hug. “You wrote some nice stuff about me, so that’s why you’re getting a hug. That’s it.”

 

Andy clears his throat. “So, now that you’ve caught up. Let’s go over –“

 

“—outside shot to inside, I ask some questions, Quinn answers. You shoot B-roll while she stands around and pretends to think heroic things,” Ivan interrupts, a wide smile on his face. “Nothing too difficult about that. Done it a million times.” 

 

After a bit of shuffling about and re-organizing the make-up table to look more “in use,” the crew makes their way outside. They do a few takes before Andy’s happy with Quinn’s introduction. His notes annoy her, but she lets it go. She’s worked with directors who said worse things than “try it again – just … different … this time.”

 

The interview goes without a hitch. She and Ivan have a good rapport and he knows how to ask questions that require more than a quick yes or no answer. Quinn loves her craft but she doesn’t always like everything that comes with it: press junkets, red carpets … TMZ asking her ridiculous questions when, really, all she wants is to buy some Pellegrino and something to eat at the tiny market a few blocks from her apartment.

 

“B-roll!” Andy calls as he pats the steady-cam operator on the shoulder. “Do a couple of walk-bys and then a few steadies and pull-in, okay?” 

 

Quinn leans against the trailer wall as the director points the cameraman in several directions. Her phone buzzes in her back pocket and, not realizing that the camera is rolling, takes a moment to check her texts. She smiles brightly at the photo that pops up and calls Eli over.

 

He smirks as he looks at the picture and then shakes his head. “I’m gay and _I_ think she looks hot.”

 

“I wasn’t showing you because I think –“ Quinn doesn’t finish her sentence as Eli starts to laugh. She frowns, shakes her head and pushes him away. 

 

“Okay, can we do that again, but without any kind of physical abuse?” Andy asks, snapping his fingers at the camera man. “Why is he even in the shot?”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes just as Eli curtsies and shuffles out of frame. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were rolling.” She takes a deep breath and shoves her phone into her back pocket before sitting on the arm of the loveseat-style couch that takes up a nice chunk of space against the wall. She toes the base of the floor lamp a few times as she waits to hear Andy, director extraordinaire, call for action.

 

Which he doesn’t because he seems to have decided to have his guy capture everything. The red light is on and only after a beat does Quinn realize it and straighten her posture.

 

“Why don’t you grab one of those comic books from the table?” Andy suggests. “Make it look like you’re reading.”

 

She slides off her perch on the couch arm and manages to slip rather gracefully onto the cushion. Grabbing the top copy on her stack of what Santana referred to as “required reading,” Quinn leans back and opens her newly acquired copy of “Molly and Poo,” issue fourteen of one of the artist’s favorite series.

 

Along with the first volume and half of the second volume of _Strangers in Paradise_ , the actor has issues of _Teen Titans_ and _Promethea_ scattered across the coffee table. Though Quinn would probably never admit it to Santana, she’s become quite a fan of the former title.

 

In the weeks they’d been talking online, there had been numerous occasions when the artist launched into an almost college-level lecture-style monologue about the latter book. She even went so far as to email high res photos of her favorite pages with research paper-length essays.

 

It was Santana’s intense deconstruction of a specific page in Alan Moore’s _graphic novel_ \- Quinn was still working on accepting that she has been spending time reading _comic books_ \- that really sparked something. That one email, in which the artist carefully noted every nuance in a discussion between Sophie and Barbara and highlighted every important detail within the illustrated Mobius strip, from the face carved into the stone of eternity to the obvious change from daylight to nighttime, forced the actor to realize there was something more to these stories – and the girl explaining them to her – than she previously acknowledged.

 

If shooting B-roll means she’ll have time to catch up on her reading, then Quinn isn't about to complain. It doesn't even bother her in the slightest when the camera operator has to rush out to find a back-up battery. Taping every little moment drained the only half-charged camera faster than the director expected and he isn't calling it wraps until he’s sure he has enough footage to make his six minute spot Emmy-worthy.

 

She finishes issue fourteen and rifles through the books on the table until she finds the next. Damn it all if Quinn isn't going to make the most of her time – and honestly, the story is really starting to pull her in.

 

Which is what she writes to Tina.

 

Not to Santana.

 

Tina is the one, after all, whose online name directly connects to what she is reading – which Quinn only just figured out. She kept listening for clues during their group chats as to why a girl named Tina would choose to call herself Molly. There was even a brief moment when she thought she figured it out.

 

As it turns out, Molly Lane? No relation at all to Lois.

 

Santana is still teasing her for stumbling to that (erroneous) conclusion.

 

And that’s the other reason Quinn writes to Tina instead of Santana. She doesn't want to give the artist the satisfaction of being right or, perhaps more honestly, of giving her the opportunity to shove an “I told you so” in her direction.

 

Sure, Quinn and Santana have gotten to be what some people might think of as friends - if, by friends, they mean people who have deep conversations about life in the context of comic books and science fiction movies and, more often than not, inject a barb or teasing comment about the other into their dialogue.

 

Actually, no. That’s really a Santana thing. Quinn rarely gets her jabs in and her glares and eye rolls aren’t as efficient when she has to type that she is glaring and/or rolling her eyes.

 

In the end, the actor can’t tell if it’s the banter with her new online friends that keeps her coming back or if it’s just Santana. She tries to tell herself, at the very least, it’s both that has her logging into her private Tumblr account when she gets home from the studio. 

 

Quinn smiles when she sees there are new messages in her ask box.

 

_IAimToMisbehave asked you:_

_I_ _’_ _m at Disneyland. You should meet us here. I_ _’_ _ve been talking about you all night. Plus, it_ _’_ _s Red Shirt Day! Do you like Pluto or Rafiki better?_

Quinn wrinkles her nose in confusion as she re-reads the message. She thinks about it for a moment and decides that Disneyana is not outside the realm of possible interests for the artist. Santana seems to be interested in everything. Quinn hesitates before clicking the answer button.

 

_I_ _’_ _m glad you made it, after all. I felt badly about you missing it because of me_ _–_ _and then we didn_ _’_ _t really have that chat, like we planned. That was a great picture you sent, by the way. Was that Brittany with you_ _–_ _and, shouldn_ _’_ _t she be wearing red for Red Shirt Day? If you_ _’_ _re around, I_ _’_ _m kind of wired from work, so_ _…_ _we can talk. Also? You can_ _’_ _t compare Mickey_ _’_ _s most loyal companion to the wise medicine monkey. Apples and oranges. And I like both apples and oranges._

She moves quickly to the next message in her inbox. Quinn gets all of about six words in before she starts laughing.

 

_IAimToMisbehave asked you:_

_I WAS NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU ALL NIGHT.  Someone took it upon herself to break into my phone (thereby my Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr accounts) and post ridiculousness. I was NOT talking about you. Like, even at all. So. Don_ _’_ _t go and get a big head or something._

Quinn decides not to reply to the follow-up message. What would she say, anyway - _didn_ _’_ _t actually think you would talk about me_ or _highly disappointed_? No. It’s best left unanswered for now.

 

_MollyLane asked you:_

_Yes! Another SiP convert! Glad you like it. I can_ _’_ _t wait until you get to_ _“_ _Molly_ _’_ _s Revenge_ _”_ _! Santana said that you_ _’_ _re working tonight. Bummer. We_ _’_ _re planning a meet-up. Mike_ _’_ _s even coming down from San Francisco!  I_ _’_ _ll send you the details when we_ _’_ _ve got it figured out. Hope you_ _’_ _ll come, too!_

It’s the last sentence that keeps Quinn from joining the chat that night. The actor knows the second her screen name pops up, someone is going to bring up meeting. She grimaces as she imagines how well that would go over with Santana. The artist would be expecting a geek-in-training named Lucy and, instead, the her least favorite actor – her entertainment nemesis- shows up.

 

So, she decides against it because, in the end, it just means coming up with an excuse. And so much of her time with them is made making excuses.

 

When her friendship with Santana (and the others, of course) started, anonymity was fine. She was just some newbie trolling blogs on very specific topics. But now?

 

Now, she absolutely adores Mike, though it’s hard not to think of him jointly as “Mike and Tina.” He is, however, single-handedly responsible for her understanding that anime and manga are not the same. She’s seen some of his drawings and, for some reason, feels a little stab of disappointment every time he defers the title of “artist” to Santana.

 

Yes, the girl is very talented but that doesn’t take away from Mike’s talent. And, anyway, it’s not like the styles are comparable. Santana’s style is like nothing she’s ever seen. It’s unique and, quite honestly, if Quinn was tasked with picking out Santana’s work from a table full of other artists’ works, she’d have no problem. The girl’s style could be trademarked. 

 

And Tina, the other half of the unofficial “Mike and Tina,” has gone out of her way to make Quinn feel like she isn’t a newbie. Okay, no, the actor hasn’t really gotten into the girl’s writings but she has no idea how even begin to wrap her mind around male characters gender-swapped into female characters, one of whom inexplicably has male parts.

 

She’s still working on accepting that one of them is supposed to be a werewolf. 

 

But, aside from not really getting the stuff that Tina writes, she likes how laid-back and open the girl is. And she’s interested in so many things that their conversations just flow.

 

And, of course, there's Santana. Quinn was obviously impressed with the artist's talent and skill but over the course of their conversations grew steadily impressed with the girl as a person. Their chats quickly moved from chat rooms to private chats to text messages to/from Quinn's private cell phone.

 

Their conversations aren't always about comic books or superheroes, either (though Santana often uses references from those topics to highlight a point). Quinn ends up learning quite a bit about the artist, especially from conversations in which Santana goes on about her nephew and waxes poetic about how he's the coolest kid ever. Santana explains that kids, in general, are pretty cool, but Sal broke the mold.

 

She gives examples that range from the boy's absolute love for all things caped, his infectious kid-laugh ("He has this tiny body, right? But when he laughs it's like the belly laugh of some beer-bellied truck driver!"), and the fact that Santana is his hero? The artist couldn't sound more proud.

 

She regularly updates her friends on Sal's condition. Everything is vague in chat. "He's doing okay" or "he was a little homesick today" is all she usually shares. Santana ends up spilling a little more, probably unconsciously, in her talks with Quinn.

 

The actor finds out that, while his doctors say they're seeing improvement, they still have his parents sign him up for the Dream Maker's Foundation (just in case). Santana confides that it scares her a little that there are so many _just in case_ s tacked onto his doctor's statements.

 

Before Quinn knows it, these people – these folks who only exist to her online – are friends. Real people, not screen names. They have aspirations and fears, they have talents and foibles. They're as real as anyone else she knows - more so, maybe. 

 

Except, what kind of friend consistently lies – well, no. She doesn’t lie. Quinn rationalizes that she just tells incomplete truths. She’s never actually _lied_ to any of these people. In fact, she feels like maybe they know her more than people she sees every day.

 

She’s been more herself – more Lucy – than she has been as _Quinn Fabray_ for years.

 

Thanks to her new friends, she’s curious again. She’s reading and exploring ideas in ways she never considered and would have simply dismissed in the past. Quinn Fabray reading comic books? Fanfiction? No. That’s definitely not Quinn Fabray’s thing. 

 

It is, as it turns out, Lucy’s thing.

 

So, instead of chatting, the actor decides to try to work her way through another chapter of Tina’s story. She promised feedback and, if she doesn’t read it, she won’t have anything to say.

 

Of course, falling asleep while reading kind of derails her plight to give Tina feedback.  When she wakes up late the next morning, her iPad nearly drained and resting on her chest, she remembers that she only got about four pages into the text before drifting off.

 

Quinn fires up her laptop with the intent of pulling up the original email containing her friend’s fic as an attachment. She’s successfully opened the Word document but about another page in, decides to look up the show …

 

… using Tumblr.

 

_IAimToMisbehave asked you:_

_Okay, so either you worked really late and crashed when you got home (which I know you didn_ _’_ _t because you answered ONE of the messages in your ask box) or you decided we aren_ _’_ _t fun anymore (which I also know isn_ _’_ _t true because_ _–_ _c_ _’_ _mon, really?). So, should I call the cops? You trapped under something heavy? Did your hipster glasses break? You didn_ _’_ _t even reply to my text. Lame._

Quinn grabs her phone, dials Santana’s number and walks to the fridge with her phone between her shoulder and her ear.

 

“You’re alive!”

 

The actor laughs. “I am. It’s sweet that you were worried, though.”

 

Santana snorts and replies, “Like fuck I was.”

 

“I read your message. You kinda were.” Quinn smirks at the yogurt she’s holding as she squints to read the expiration date. “Hey, if yogurt has a buy date, how long do I have before it expires?”

 

“Is that why you called me? To accuse me of, like, thinking about you enough to worry about your suspicious absence from our nightly chats and to ask me about yogurt?”

 

That’s when Quinn hears it: Anger.

 

“Wait, are you mad at me?” she asks the artist as she tosses her yogurt in trash.

 

Santana chuckles humorlessly before answering, “No. Why would I be angry?

 

“I’m really not sure. But you kind of sound like you are.”

 

“Yeah, well,” the artist begins. “I’m not.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Quinn is quiet for a moment before she lets out a short sigh. “Okay, but if you were, why would you be?”

 

“It doesn’t matter because I’m not.”

 

“Then, what are you?”

 

“Annoyed?” Santana volleys back.

 

Quinn stares into her fridge, not really looking for breakfast – brunch – anymore. “… because I didn’t go online last night?”

 

“No,” the artist replies. “First of all, you did go online. You answered Britts’ crazy message. So, you did go online …”

 

The actor shuts the fridge door and leans on it, her brow quirking. “… okay …”

 

“And you’re asking me re-goddamned-diculous questions about being mad at you instead of telling me how you had time to answer a message obviously not from me but you couldn’t be bothered to reply to either my text or my message.” Santana takes a short breath, not giving the other girl a chance to respond before she continues. “And, you know, I don’t care if you come chat with us. It’s six and half dozen to me, you know?”

 

Quinn bites her lip and then gives up on trying not to smile. “I’m sorry I disappointed you – especially since I don’t have a great excuse other than I fell asleep reading one of Tina’s stories. Please don’t tell her that, though.”

 

Santana huffs at the idea of her being disappointed and opts to change the subject. “Which story?”

 

“The one where the teenage boy werewolf is a girl and uh …” the actor stutters for a moment or two.

 

Santana laughs. “… and the full moon brings out more than just wolfy stuff? Yeah, I read it. Don’t bother finishing it. I’ll give you the cliffs notes version and tell you the best things to quote. If she wasn’t such an awesome person, I’d have to ban her from tinychat based on her shameless love for bad television.”

 

“So … you’re not mad anymore?”

 

“I told you, I’m not mad.”

 

Quinn nods to no one in particular. “Okay.”

 

“But if I was …”

 

“ … if you were?”

 

“… your explanation would do for some of it. Doesn’t explain the non-responsiveness to the picture I sent. What, you think SuperGirl and Wonder Woman wouldn't be friends?” Santana questions.

 

“I was working when you sent it,” Quinn explains. “Eli said you were hot, though. And he’s super gay.”

 

“Like, if he was a super hero, his power would be color coordinating bright hues and go-go dancing?”

 

The actor rolls her eyes. “… that was really stereotypical.”

 

“You’re the one who said he was super gay. Like, big G on his chest, gay.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Quinn says. “Even though, yeah, kind of.”

 

“So, Eli thinks I’m hot, huh,” Santana teases. “I’m not switching teams any time soon. So let him down gently for me, ‘kay?” 

 

“I’m sure he’ll be heartbro-" Quinn's phone beeps and she sees she has a call coming in from her manager. “Hey, can I call you right back? My ... " the actor bites her lip, "supervisor is calling me right now. It’ll be, like, ten-fifteen minutes, tops.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Santana replies. “The best thing about working from home? Working from _home_. I'll be around ... ”

 

“Great, I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“You better, Lucille.”

 

Santana disconnects the call and settles down in front of her couch, raising the volume on her television.

 

_Up next, exclusive behind the scenes footage on the set of Teen Titans! But first, Backstage Hollywood columnist and video correspondent, Ivan Stokes, had the chance to catch up with Teen Titan_ _’_ _s Quinn Fabray._

Santana sits up, her eyes widening when she sees the actor on her screen. The blonde shaggy hair that the artist associated with Quinn Fabray is gone and, instead, she’s sporting dark brown locks that make her hazel eyes practically glow green. 

 

 _“_ _I_ _’_ _m Quinn Fabray_. _Keep watching Backstage Hollywood for the inside scoop on Teen Titans._ _”_ _The actor opens her trailer door and steps inside, quirking a flirty eyebrow at the camera before the show melts away to commercial._

: Turn on Backstage Hollywood!

 

Santana frowns at her text from Tina.

 

: Already watching.

 

: Her hair looks amazing!

 

: Too short.

 

Any other message gets put on hold. The entertainment show comes back on with Ivan Stokes, Santana’s least favorite gossip guy – second only to DetCom’s brother, Jacob – and Quinn Fabray sitting on a loveseat.

 

_“_ _So, are you a fan of comic books?_ _”_ _Ivan asks as he points to a coffee table covered in comics._

_Quinn smiles softly._ _“_ _I have to admit I wasn_ _’_ _t before this shoot; however_ _…”_ _Her smile grows as she continues,_ _“_ _I_ _’_ _ve caught up on Teen Titans storylines and recently I_ _’_ _ve been introduced to some amazing titles outside of that universe. As you can see_ _…”_ _She giggles cutely and points to the stacks on the coffee table._

_Ivan grabs pulls a comic book from the table and holds it up, showing Quinn a cover with Robin and Donna Troy featured prominently._ _“_ _Word on the street is that Blaine Anderson beat out Noah Puckerman for role of Robin. What do you think about that?_ _”_

_Quinn purses her lips._ _“_ _I can only tell you that I_ _’_ _ve been training with Blaine and, he_ _’_ _s going to be an amazing Robin._ _”_

_“_ _Can you show me any moves you picked up in training?_ _”_

_The actor clenches her jaw. She hates this kind of showboating and Ivan knows it._ _“_ _Sure,_ _”_ _she says, the fake-cheer in her voice causing Ivan to rethink his request._

_“_ _Or,_ _”_ _he starts to suggest,_ _“_ _we can roll some footage of you and Blaine with your coach_ _…”_ _Ivan_ _’_ _s sentence is left hanging as the scene cuts in with a clip of three people in a warehouse. Quinn and Blaine are wearing black pants and tank tops and a woman in a bright red track suit walks around the wrestling mat on which they are standing._

_When the woman yells at them to begin, Quinn drops to the floor as her fight partner kicks his foot at her. She sweeps his other leg but before he crashes to the ground, he twists so that he lands push-up style and springs himself back up._

_By the time he_ _’_ _s up, Quinn is already in position to deliver a punch to his ribs. He brushes her fist away, grabbing her hand firmly before he counter-punches. She dodges and pulls her captured hand toward her, the momentum causing Blaine to have to raise his arm so that they don_ _’_ _t collide. Quinn twirls under him, bends his arm and pins it to his back._

_The clip ends and Ivan and Quinn are now standing beside the loveseat. Ivan_ _’_ _s eyes are comically wide._ _“_ _Which is why we went to the clip!_ _”_

_“_ _I_ _’_ _d love to take credit,_ _”_ _Quinn says softly._ _“_ _But that was all choreographed by our brilliant trainer, Sue. She_ _’_ _s a real pro._ _”_

Santana continues to listen to the interviewer banter with the actor, her interest waning the more Ivan speaks. Maybe it they didn’t film the entire thing in the trailer, the artist thinks. All of the montage stuff – everything. She thinks the producers don’t know their audience at all.

 

Seriously, who wouldn’t rather see the Titan’s headquarters over seeing Quinn Fabray’s ratty old loveseat, messy coffee table or -  Santana sits up, pushing her nose closer to the television screen. The artist crinkles her nose and squints.

 

“I know that lamp …” she says to herself. “How do I know that lamp?”

 

She grabs her phone and texts Tina.

 

: Are you recording this?

 

: Yeah, I’m going to cap it later for Mike. He wants to do a chibi Donna for Lucy.

 

Santana’s eyes widen and she looks back to the screen. Lucy. Ms. Lamp. She _does_ know that lamp!

 

She tries to call Lucy, but the girl doesn’t pick up. Santana assumes she’s still on the phone with her boss.

 

: Hey, Lucille. I know who you are. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Let me see if I have this right,” Eli says as he presses his fingers into the sides of his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “You called me, freaking out no less, because this girl you met online and have, in your own weird way, befriended, now knows your secret identity … ”

 

Quinn nods mutely, her hazel eyes wide and her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

 

“… and you think she isn’t going to want to talk to you anymore because you haven’t been one-hundred percent truthful with her …” he continues.

 

She nods, again.

 

“ … but you want her to keep talking to you.”

 

Another nod.

 

Eli shakes his head. “Okay, see this is why I don’t do the girl thing.”  He opens his eyes and points to his friend. “You don’t make sense. Do you know what men do? They say ‘I like you’ or ‘I fucked up but let’s at least see if kissing doesn’t solve our issues.’ That’s what men do.”

 

Quinn bites her lip a little harder as her chin trembles, making Eli sigh.

 

“If you want her to keep talking to you, Quinn,” he says gently, “then maybe you should have called _her_.”

 

The actor groans in frustration. “And say what? Sorry I’ve been lying to you?”

 

Her friend shrugs and then lets his body fall heavily on her couch. He stretches out, putting his worn Chucks on one of the arms and crosses his hands behind his head to rest it on the opposite arm.

 

“Get out.” She pushes his shoes off the upholstery and frowns deeply. “You’re not even a little helpful.” 

 

“I already told you my solution. It’s not my fault you don’t want to hear it,” he says, not moving.

 

“I’m sorry but ‘kiss it out’ isn’t a viable option, Eli.” Quinn folds her arms over her chest and glares at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

 

Eli smirks and says, “There’s no such thing as enjoying anything _too_ much. If it’s enjoyable, there’s no limit on it. I just happen to be partaking in untold amounts of joy right now.” 

 

Quinn purses her lips. “I hate you.”  
  
“Yes, I know, sweetheart. I know.” He closes his eyes. “So, can you hate me and call your friend at the same time? The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be.” 

 

“I just don’t know what to say,” she confesses as she slumps onto the floor, her back against the side of the couch.  

 

Eli’s foot twitches. “My guess is you won’t have to do much talking. Seems like she’s the type to make you listen first, if you know what I mean. Ol’ Cap’ has a mighty fine way with words from what I remember.”

 

Quinn hums softly in agreement and then sucks in a deep breath. “Okay, just get it over with…” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and easily finds Santana’s number. It was, after all, the second to the last number she dialed. She pauses with her finger over the green dial graphic. “Maybe you should go.”

 

Eli sits up and throws his hands in the air. “Oh no, sister! You’re calling her and, because you called me first and, like the good friend I am, I came running to comfort you – I get to listen in when she rips you another asshole.”

 

Quinn glares at him.

 

 “It’s only fair,” he says calmly. “I did come over on a moment’s notice for your silly girl problems. Which, I would like to remind you, could have been avoided if you’d have listened to me.”

 

“It’s not silly, Eli! She could very well never talk to me again …”

 

“… as evidenced by her sending you a text message, thereby opening up the possibility of a conversation,” Eli replies. “Yes, I can see how you came to that conclusion.”  

 

“I hate you,” she reiterates sullenly.

 

Eli pops up from the couch, grabs the phone from Quinn’s hand and looks pointedly at her. Without a moment’s hesitation, he hits the dial button and holds the phone out. “I love you, too.”

 

Quinn’s mouth drops open, her heart suddenly beating in her ears, and she stands there with her arms still crossed over her chest and her jaw slack.

 

Eli shakes his head and gives her a warning look as he whispers, “I heard it ring …”

 

She pushes her lips together tightly before harshly whispering, “I hate you.”

 

“Lucille?” Santana asks when she’s met with silence. “Hey … hello?” She checks her phone to see if the call is still connected.

 

“Hey,” Quinn says in a falsely upbeat tone as she glares daggers at Eli. He, in turn, smiles sweetly and takes up his former position on her couch.

 

“You need to work on your prank calls,” the other girl jokes. She puts the call on speaker phone and adds, “At least put caller ID block on or something. I totally knew it was you. You’d be a for shit stalker.”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t prank calling you. I just – “ she side-eyes Eli and decides to retire to her room for privacy. “I didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly.” 

 

She holds up her middle finger when he whines, “Oh, come on! Don’t leave!” It takes all of her resolve not to slam the door for good measure.

 

“You kidding? I’ve been waiting for this –“

 

“Look,” Quinn interrupts, “before you start, can I just say that I wanted to tell you?”

 

Santana is quiet for a little longer than the actor expects.

 

“Hello? Are you still there?” Quinn asks when she gets no reply from the other girl. She pulls her phone away from her ear and looks at the screen to see if Santana hung up on her. 

“I’m here. I was giving you the chance to say that you wanted to tell me. Go ahead.”

 

“I thought I just did.”

 

“No … you said you wanted to say it. So, y’know,” Santana teases, “say it.”

 

Quinn sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. “I wanted to tell you.”

 

“But you didn’t.”

 

She sighs again “No, I didn’t.”

 

“Okay, then.” Santana says as she picks up her pencil and resumes her drawing.

 

“What does that mean?” Quinn asks. She sits gingerly on her bed and traces the stitching on her quilt.  

 

The other girl laughs. “It means, _okay_. You don’t owe me anything. I mean, I’m just some chick you talk to online sometimes, right?”

 

When she gets no reply, Santana more forcefully asks, “Right?”

 

 “You know that’s not true,” Quinn finally answers, her voice soft.

 

“Okay, maybe I do, or,” the other girl begins, “or maybe I don’t really know much at all. I mean, I know your name. And _now_ I know what you do.”

 

“What do you want to know?” Quinn asks. “If you ask me something, I’ll tell you the truth.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m tired of only being part of me and,” she answers, “if I’m going to start being me, I feel like I could be me with you.”

 

“Whoa, was that a line, Lucille?” Santana asks, chuckling.

 

Quinn closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m being serious. I want to make it up to you.”

 

“You don’t have to make it up to me, okay,” the other girl says, sighing. “Look, I kind of get it, you know? You were a newbie and, shit, why should you trust us? We’re just some randoms online who to talk in movie quotes and fangirl, or boy, out about things that directly relate to your job.”

 

“That’s _not_ how I think of you,” Quinn argues and then quickly adds on. “… any of you.” 

 

“Not even Artie?” Santana asks, laughing. “Because boy might be a good pirate and know some dope tunes, but I wouldn’t give him my social security number.”

 

 “Can I be honest with you?” Quinn asks.   
  
“I don’t know. You can give it a shot,” the other girl responds coolly, her eyes trained on the work in front of her. 

 

Quinn lays back on her bed and stares at the ceiling. “I wasn’t looking for friends, Santana. I was looking for some background information and got sucked into your art. And when I saw that you were hosting a chat-thing- “

 

“—livestream—“

 

“Right, livestream. When I saw you were doing that, I thought it’d be kind of cool to talk to you.”

 

Santana’s quiet for a moment. “But you didn’t think you’d like me?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking about liking you or not liking you. I was just thinking about your art and about Donna Troy … and somehow we ended up here,” she replies.

 

“And where’s here?” the other girl asks her.

 

Quinn closes her eyes. “With me feeling like a bad friend, I guess. You’ve shared so much with me about your life and I’ve just …” she sighs before she continues, “I’ve navigated around some major points.”

 

“If you feel so bad about it, make it up to me.”

 

 “How?”

 

“You said I could ask you questions, so ...”

 

Quinn takes a deep breath as she opens her eyes and scoots to sit with her back against her headboard. “Okay, go ahead.”

 

“How old were you when you lost your V card?” Santana asks.

 

“What? Santana … “

 

Santana laughs and teases, “You said I could ask you something.” 

 

“I meant questions that would make you feel like I treat what we have as something real,” Quinn clarifies before adding softly, “ – that you’re not just some random I met online.” 

 

“Technically, we haven’t met and, technically, if we did, it _would_ have been online,” the other girl informs her. “And as for what we have or don’t have remains to be seen because, as of yet, you haven’t answered the question. So, answer the question, Claire.”

 

“Breakfast Club! _Finally_ , a reference I get without you sending me to Wikipedia,” Quinn jokes. “And to answer your question, sixteen and it was horribly underrated.”

 

 Santana chuckles and rolls her eyes. “I think sixteen and underrated go hand-in-hand. Unless he wasn’t sixteen …”

 

“He was seventeen, but I feel like that’s splitting hairs.”

 

“Was he your first boyfriend?” the other girl asks curiously.

 

Quinn hums softly to herself as she thinks. “It wasn’t – we weren’t serious. I went on a few dates in high school but I wasn’t really interested.” 

 

“You were interested enough to give it up to him, though,” Santana rationalizes.

 

“I was just curious, that’s all,” she explains.

 

There’s a strange scratching sound coming from Santana’s end of the line.

 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks.

 

“Blending… is that okay with you? Most people enjoy a little shading.”

 

Quinn frowns. “Are you working?”

 

“Work from home often means that when I’m home, I have to work. But,” Santana says, “at least I don’t have to get out of my pajamas until dinner time. Okay, so celebrity crush …”

 

“Define celebrity. No – don’t. It doesn’t matter.” Quinn bites her lip. “I don’t have one.”

 

“C’mon, you’re surrounded by hot actors all the time. Oh! I know, what about Sam Evans?” Santana asks. “His mouth is kinda huge but, c’mon, he’s a cutie, right?”

 

The other girl laughs. “What is it with everyone thinking I’m dating Sam?”

 

“People think you’re dating him? Do tell …”

 

“I’m not,” Quinn quickly answers her. “He’s an absolute sweetheart and he’s actually kind of a nerd but,” she sighs, “he’s not my type.”

 

“Nerds aren’t your type or people you work with aren’t your type?”

 

“Sam isn’t my type.”

 

“Okay. Keepin’ it professional – and vague -  I see.”

 

“I am. I’m not telling you more than this so don’t ask but …” Quinn giggles. “There _is_ an onset romance and they _are_ adorable, but I can’t say anything about it.”

 

Santana hums softly to herself. “Would it be anyone I saw on Backstage Hollywood today?”

 

“I told you not to ask, Santana,” Quinn warns. “Really, it’s not my news to share. Either they’ll say something about it or TMZ will catch them. Until then, I have no comment on anyone’s private life.”

 

“Did you have to sign something?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like a confidentiality thing,” Santana clarifies. She waves her hand before touching her pencil to the page again. “You know, like, you don’t repeat things you hear on set or things like that.”

 

“No,” Quinn answers slowly. “I don’t need to sign anything like that. I am a privacy advocate.”

 

“No shit, Lucille,” the other girl says soberly. “I had to Sherlock your ass.”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes at her friend’s continued use of her nickname. “How long are you going to insist on calling me ‘Lucille’?”

 

“I dunno. ‘Til it’s not fun anymore?”

 

“When will that be?”

 

“Probably when it doesn’t get a rise out of you,” Santana admits. “Just do me a favor and wait until I find something else to tease you about before you decide you don’t mind this one so much.”

 

“I have nothing to tease you about. This is hardly fair,” Quinn notes.

 

 “Yeah, well, you’re making it up to me, so suck it up, Lucille.”

 

Quinn sighs. “I thought I was making it up to you by answering questions.”

 

 “For starters.” Santana chuckles softly. “But, if you’re worried about reciprocity, ask me something. You wanna know my celebrity crush?”

 

“Linda Hamilton.”

 

“She’s hot, smartass,” the other girl says. “She’s on my all-time list, but – no, you know what, I’m not going to tell you. You’re still making it up to me.”   
  
Quinn can practically hear her friend’s smirk.  “I don’t suppose this is something that I’ll be able to make up for before I have to head to work tonight …”   
  
Santana’s laugh is loud. “Fuck no! I’m enjoying this too much.”

 

“I was recently told that it’s impossible to enjoy something _too much_ ,” she informs the other girl. “Words of wisdom from your pal, Eli.”

 

“And what is he enjoying so much?”

 

“My couch,” Quinn answers before adding, “and my angst about calling you after your text.”

 

“Hey, he’s there?” Santana sounds absolutely thrilled by this news. “Tell him the Captain sends her regards.”

 

“I will not.”   
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Because it requires me calling you ‘The Captain’ and that’s not happening – ever.”

 

“What if I said you were in the clear if you said it just once?” Santana asks, her voice teasing.  

 

Quinn closes her eyes and considers it. Her pride wins out as she says, “I’ll take the longer sentence with no chance for early release for good behavior.” 

 

“If you had ended that statement with _officer_ , we’d have had a deal, Lucille.” Santana is quiet for a beat. “You’re loving that rhyme right now, aren’t you?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Quinn says, laughing. “You’re such a nerd sometimes.”

 

“You love it,” the other girl says confidently. “If you didn’t, there would have been no angst for Eli to enjoy.” 

 

The actor sighs loudly.

 

“So, let me ask you something else, Ms. Lamp,” Santana begins. “You know I’m not really super upset but, if you’re worried, I’ll give you an easy out. You listening?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come to the meet-up,” the other girl requests quickly. “It’ll be like a play date with friends you’ve never seen in person but feel like you’ve known forever.”

 

Quinn bites her lip as she considers the invitation. “And you’ve talked to Mike and Tina about this? They want me to go?”

 

“I didn’t talk to them about your appearance on Backstage Hollywood, no. Tina saw but she doesn’t have all the information to make the jump, you know?” Santana taps the end of her pencil against her lips as she thinks. “They’d want you to go because they like you – it _is_ possible to like someone without knowing what they do for a living.”

           

“I should tell them before I show up, don’t you think?”

 

Santana wrinkles her nose as she eyes her drawing for necessary touch ups. “‘S’up to you. That’s totally your call, Lampy.”

 

“Santana …”

 

“I thought you wanted me to stop calling you Lucille.”

 

“And you think Lampy is an appropriate replacement?”

 

“For now,” Santana replies. “So, are you in for the meet-up?”

 

Quinn chews her bottom lip. “It’ll depend on when you schedule it. As you can imagine, I can’t exactly call out of work.”

 

“That reminds me,” the other girl says, putting her pencil down and leaning back in her chair. “I figured out, well, Britts stalked my notes and she thinks I got a huge signal boost from one particular reblog. Was that your doing?”

 

“It was a good cause and I didn’t think you’d notice,” Quinn admits almost shyly.

 

Santana shakes her head and smiles to herself. “That was nice of you to go out on a limb like that for a kid you don’t even know.”

 

A small wrinkle appears between Quinn’s brows. “I don’t see how it was going out on a limb.”

 

“Maybe I have it wrong but it kind of seems like you and Eli , while working for the film, kind of also work for the actors. So, you putting a bug in Quinn Fabray’s ear about this seems really cool to me,” Santana explains.

 

“Wait, what?”  Quinn sits up and clutches her pillow to her stomach.

 

“I know you don’t actually work for her, but you work with her,” the other girl continues. “And the fact that you got her to reblog my call for commissions is super cool. You didn’t have to mention it, especially after I kind of blasted her on my blog.” Santana is quiet for a beat. “You didn’t show it to her, did you?”

 

The actor sits, speechless on her bed.

 

Santana mistakes her friend’s silence as confirmation. “You did? Well, shit.”  

 

“I –“

 

“No, I get it,” the other girl interrupts before Quinn can get a word out. “It seemed like I was slamming her but, you’ve read _Strangers in Paradise_ now, so you know I really wasn’t. There were some real compliments in there.”

 

Quinn doesn’t even try to say anything. She just clutches her pillow tighter, her eyes wide as she listens to her friend go on.

 

“I’m not making excuses or anything just because you know her,” Santana clarifies. “I just know that now you probably get what I was saying about her being too good for _Titans_.”

 

“Too good?” the actor repeats dumbly.

 

“C’mon, Quinn Fabray’s doing comic movies because someone thinks she needs to hit more markets. Her manager is probably some stupid shit who thinks that her best asset is her face which, okay, sure, she’s really pretty but she’s also really good at what she does,” the other girl says. “She doesn’t need this for her filmography. The girl’s acted with Colin Firth and Emma Thompson – and she stole every friggin scene. Her credentials are solid.”

 

“You saw _My Life Closed Twice_?” Quinn asks, shocked.

 

Santana shrugs. “I’ve seen lots of movies. I like movies.” She pauses. “Shut up, Lampy. Anyway, are you coming to the meet up?”

 

Quinn blinks at the sudden shift in the conversation. “I’m open to it, yes. But,” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to send you an email. I want you to read it and, when you’re done, if you still want me to go, I’ll go.”

 

The other girl snorts softly. “If you’re trying to go backwards and be mysterious again, it’s not necessary.”

 

“I’m not, but …” Quinn hesitates. “I don’t want to show up and have you be – I’m not sure what you might be. So, read it and let me know, okay?”

 

Santana frowns in confusion. “Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be anything except glad you showed, Luce.”

 

Quinn smiles at the name. “Just in case,” she says. “I’ve gotta go now.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

“I hope to talk to you later,” the actor states softly.

 

“You will.” It almost sounds, to Quinn, like a promise.

 

As soon as she hangs up, Quinn goes to the living room, smacks Eli’s legs until he sits up and makes room for her on the couch. She pulls her laptop out from its hiding place under the coffee table and, with a quick, nervous look at her friend, gets to work.

 

_Wikipedia  
Quinn Fabray (born August 16) is an American actress … _

_Filmography:_

_Diana of Wales (rumored, 2013)  
Teen Titans (present)_

_My Life Closed Twice (2012)_

_Les Victoires (2011)_  
Villette (2011)  
Little Women (PBS Miniseries 2010)

_Personal:_

_Quinn Fabray is known for being a private celebrity. She has never publicly acknowledged any rumors about romantic ties (or sexual preference). She is currently rumored to be dating Sam Evans. Charities include: GLAAD, St. Jude’s Children Hospital, Doctors without Borders and CARE.  _

She hits the edit button and updates her biography.

 

_Quinn Fabray (born Lucy Quinn Fabray on August 16)_

She leaves her filmography intact and quickly edits her personal information.

_Quinn Fabray is known for being a very private celebrity. She has never publicly acknowledged any rumors about romantic ties (or sexual preference). She is currently rumored to be dating Sam Evans._

 

She merely rolls her eyes at the statement about dating and her sexuality.

_Charities include: GLAAD, St. Jude’s Children Hospital, Doctors without Borders and CARE.  She has most recently become involved with the Dream Makers Foundation, a non-profit organization created to help children with life-threatening illnesses live out their dreams._

_After accepting the role of Donna Troy in “Teen Titans,” she began researching her character by reading comic books and scouring the internet for information about the character as well as this DC franchise. She mentioned in an interview (Backstage Hollywood) that her favorite comic series include “Promethea” and “Strangers in Paradise.”_

 

“What are you doing?” Eli asks, looking over her shoulder.

 

Quinn shakes her head, practically ignoring him and navigates to Backstage Hollywood. It doesn’t take her long to find the article she wants.

 

_Backstage Hollywood_

_Titans in Love?_

_By Ivan Stokes_

_Are Donna Troy and Aqua Lad more than just Titan teammates? Quinn Fabray was seen having lunch with former boy-band member and current co-star, Sam Evans, at Café El. Witnesses said the couple looked very happy and even celebrated spending time together with an afternoon champagne toast._

_They looked cozy as they left the restaurant arm-in-arm. Check out the photos and judge for yourself._

“Quinn,” her friend says softly before repeating his earlier question, “what are you doing?”

 

Quinn frowns as she copies and pastes the article into an empty email. “Coming clean.”

 

_To: Santana Lopez (parkergirl@gmail.com)_

_From: (DiamondLuce@gmail.com)_

_Subject: Read Me._

_Attachment: (photo.jpg)_

_Santana,_

_I thought about explaining to you on the phone that your grand moment of discovery was_

_flawed but, for starters, I was shocked to find out that the truth you discovered wasn’t the truth at all._

_From our conversation, it seemed like you were under the impression that I work with Eli – as a makeup artist (?). That’s half right. I do work with Eli; but, he’s my makeup and hair artist._

 

“And your best friend who comes to your aid within moments of your calling in distress,” Eli says as he points to the screen. “Add that.”

 

“I’m not adding that and stop reading over my shoulder.” Quinn shrugs the shoulder closest to him. “I can feel you breathing on me.”  

 

_Yesterday when you spoke to us, he was dying my hair to match the extensions that I’ll be wearing for the duration of filming. And I didn’t get back to you about the picture you texted to me because I was being interviewed for the episode of Backstage Hollywood you saw earlier today._

_I know you were joking when you referred to the lamp and said you saw me on TV. But you did_ _see me – on the couch, in the training room –_ that _was me._

 

“You should attach a picture of us,” Eli suggests.

 

“You should stop breathing on me,” she replies, annoyed, as she continues to type.

 

_I tell myself that I never lied to you (I tried really hard to be honest) but I know not  
telling you the whole truth – leaving out important information – is pretty much the same as lying.  And that’s something I never wanted to do. I hope you’ll forgive me for that. _

_After you visit my Wiki page and read the article below (which is untrue – he’s not my type, remember?), let me know if your invitation still stands. I’ve included them as kind of proof for you … just in case you don’t believe me. _

 

“Or you could attach a picture of us!” Eli suggests again.

 

Quinn rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine.”  She positions her laptop so that the little built-in camera can capture both of their images. She attaches the picture of Eli holding his hands up in a heart shape and Quinn looking somewhat abashedly into the camera.

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_LQF_

 

“Now what?” Eli asks as he puts his arm around his friend.

 

“Now,” Quinn says, clicking the send button, “we wait.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trick or Treat!


	8. Chapter 8

"Maybe you should try texting Lucy again," Tina suggests as she makes herself comfortable on her friend's couch.

Santana grunts in reply. She'd gotten up to open the door for her friend but once Tina was inside the apartment she resumed her position in "her" chair. He friend had visited enough times to know where everything was and to be comfortable grabbing something from the fridge if she wanted it.

"Did you guys get into a fight?" her friend asks. "You'd tell me if you did something stupid, right?"

"What makes you think I did something stupid?" she replies, offended, as she burrows herself deeper into the big chair's worn cushions.

"Because you always do this."

"I always do what?" Santana's voice cracks into a higher pitch and she glares at her friend. "I didn't do anything. She just hasn't been around or something, I guess."

"It's been over two weeks," Tina reminds her. "And she never replied to my text about the meet-up, either."

"Maybe you did something stupid. Ever think of that?"

Tina frowns. "I'm not the one who talks to her every day."

Santana simply shrugs.

"San, c'mon," her friend tries, "what happened?"

The other girl curls into herself and turns her face away. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And if you  _did_  believe me, you'd probably think I was an idiot."

Tina hops in place on the couch and points at her friend. "You hooked up, didn't you? I knew it!"

Santana turns, a deep scowl on her face. "We did not – what are you even talking about?"

"Oh, c'mon, Santana," her friend says. "It's so obvious you're into her." Tina rolls her eyes. "More obvious than when you had your little crush on Brittany."

"I  _didn't_  have a crush on Brittany," Santana says adamantly. "She's like my non-romantic soul-mate, that's all."

Tina laughs and tries to downplay it. "Soul-mates? Is that all? And here I thought there was a real connection."

"I've got stuff on you,  _Mrs_. Chang," Santana warns.

Tina's mouth immediately closes and she gives her friend a sober look. "Do you know why she hasn't been online?"

"Yes."

Her friend waits for her to expand on her answer. When an explanation doesn't come, she asks, "Is she upset about something? With one of us?"

"By now?" Santana begins. "Probably."

Tina scratches the back of her neck and sizes up her friend.

Santana, usually in the midst of a flurry of activity, has been stationary since she arrived. And, while she doesn't expect her friend to be dressed to the nines, a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a tank top wasn't what she expected. She's never seen her friend in a tank top that didn't have some sort of symbol or typography, but this is just a plain ol' Fruit of the Loom kind of shirt.

Her hair's pulled back in a ponytail and, sure, that's the norm for when the girl is drawing. But she's not drawing. She's – well, Tina's not really sure what she's doing. It seems like she's trying to perform some kind of body-chair meld.

Tina gets up from her spot on Santana's couch – arguably the most comfortable couch in all of existence – and stands over her friend. "Did she do something to piss you off?"

Santana sighs. "No," she says. "She's fine. I mean, I have a fuckin' huge mouth and, obviously, a tiny brain, but ... ." She doesn't bother to finish her thought.

"Okay, you know what? Fine." Tina smacks her hands together. "I'm going to call Brittany and see if she can come over."

Santana's eyes widen and she sits up. "No! C'mon, no."

"If you won't tell me what happened, I know you'll tell her." Tina eyes her friend. "In fact, you might have already told her. Non-romantic soul-mates and all."

"I haven't, okay?"

Tina raises her brows, clearly not sure if she believes her friend.

"I didn't. Just –" Santana sighs loudly. "Don't call Britts. It's bad enough there's already one kind of awesome person who thinks I'm stupid. I don't need to start calling everyone I know to advertise it."

Tina frowns in confusion. In all honesty, Santana is one of the smartest people she knows; so, all of this talk about her being stupid not only confuses her, but also makes her question her own intelligence.

"What happened with you and Lucy," Tina asks.

"You mean before or after I unknowingly talked crap about her?"

"You what?" her friend asks, the question doing nothing to alleviate her confusion. "Why would you do that?'

Santana rolls her eyes. "That's the  _unknowingly_  part, Tina."

"Okay, how did you-"

"I can't tell you," Santana says, interrupting her friend.

"Because …"

"Because I don't know if I'm supposed to. I don't know anything – obviously."

Tina can't help the laugh that bubbles out of her mouth. And when her friend's scowl turns into a pout, there's almost nothing she can do to stop now that she's started.

"You're not my best friend anymore," Santana says, crossing her arms.

"I'm sorry but," Tina says through her laughs. "Is this you wallowing in self-pity? I've never seen it before and …" she stops to let out another little chuckle, "it's actually a little cute."

Santana presses her lips into a hard line and glares at her friend. "I am not cute!"

That only makes Tina laugh harder.

"Remember whose couch you're sleeping on, Chang," Santana advises her friend.

Tina catches her breath and lets out a slow, sated sigh as she rests back on the couch, again. "Okay, so, how much can you tell me without telling me what you can't tell me?"

Santana wrinkles her nose and stares at her friend. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Tell me  _something_. The mystery is killing me," Tina says. "I've got all sorts of theories floating around in here."

"She's not a dude. She's not a werewolf," she ticks off on her fingers. "She's not a vampire, fairy or any other mystical creature that travels through dimensions in a glowing orb or any other thing you might be thinking." Santana looks directly at her friend. "There's no chance of incest because we aren't related by blood – or by anything –  _and_  we aren't in a relationship."

Tina opens her mouth to say something but it stopped when Santana holds up her finger.

"Not done," she says. "She's not a client. She's not my former teacher …" Santana takes a deep breath. "She's not anything you would normally write about in one of your stories, okay?"

Tina nods softly. "What is she, then?"

"What?"

"You're telling me all of the things she's not," her friend says simply. "That means the issue is what she is, right? So, what is she? Is this a straight girl thing?"

Santana shakes her head. "I can't tell you," She says before she purses her lips and shrugs. "But I blasted her pretty hard and didn't even know it. And then, when I thought I knew something about her…" she sighs. "I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm stupid."

"So, she's not talking to you?" Tina asks.

Santana shrugs.

"Should I text her?"

She shrugs again.

"Is there anything you  _don't_  want me to say to her?" Tina checks as she pulls her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

Santana simply shakes her head.

:  _Just checking that you're okay. Haven't talked to you in a while._

"So, what time is Mike getting here?" Tina's eyes light up as she asks.

Santana twists around and checks the clock on the microwave. "His flight lands in an hour but he doesn't want us to pick him up at the airport. He's Mr. Independence and wants to rent a car."

"He's renting a car?" her friend asks, obviously worried.

"I know, I told him," she replies. "But he insists that he drives enough at home to be able to handle L.A. traffic."

"Los Angeles and San Francisco are totally different."

"And we both know he doesn't drive there. But, he wants to do it, so …" Santana is interrupted by Tina's phone.

:  _Sorry not to have checked in. Everything okay?_

Tina rolls her eyes. "She never answers questions about herself, you notice that?"

Santana doesn't bother to answer. She just snorts before shaking her head.

:  _Everything's good. I'm at Santana's – are you coming tomorrow night?_

:  _Tomorrow night?_

"Santana!" Tina holds the phone out for her friend to read the text message. "You didn't tell her about the meet up?"

"I did!"

"Then why is she acting like she doesn't know?"

"I told her it was happening but at the time, I didn't know when. So, she," Santana winces as she explains, "might not have all of the information."

:  _The meet up. Can you make it? I know it's last minute …_ Tina scowls at her friend once she sends the message.

It takes a few minutes for the reply to come through.

:  _I don't think so. Maybe another time._

_: Maybe we can set up an unofficial meet up? You, me, Mike and Santana? When are you free?_

_: It's probably not a good idea, Tina. But thank you for trying to include me._

Tina frowns and glares at Santana.

:  _I don't know what went down between you and Santana but we'd both really like it if you came._

:  _She didn't tell you?_

:  _No. She's being cryptic and weird. Weirder than usual, I mean. She keeps saying she can't tell me something and, because of that something, she can't tell me anything._

"What are you talking to her about?" Santana asks, trying to peek at her friend's phone. It seems like Tina is texting a novel.

"You," Tina replies and pulls her phone to her chest, away from prying eyes.

:  _Tell her she can tell you. Just you and Mike, though, okay? I've only spoken to Brittany once so I don't know how trustworthy she is. Can I leave that to your discretion?_

Before Tina can respond, another text comes in.

:  _I should have probably told you before. You and Mike – and Santana. I hope you'll understand why. And if you do, maybe you can explain it to Santana. Have to go._

"She said you should tell me." Tina says in a clipped tone.

"Like hell she did." Santana purses her lips and shakes her head.

Her friend simply holds her phone out for the other girl to read. Tina tries to read the expression on her friend's face as she reviews the messages, but Santana's not showing any of her cards.

"Hey! I'm not being weird!" the girl finally says, frowning.

"You look like a bag lady who works out and has a good skin care routine," Tina says, looking her friend up and down. "That's kind of weird and, anyway, I believe you have something to tell me."

Santana shakes her head. "You won't believe me unless you read it for yourself." She gets up and grabs the tablet from her work table. A few pokes and a few slides of her finger across the screen and her email is up. "You might want to sit down."

Tina frowns but does as she's told, her hands out and ready to take the tablet. Santana smirks as she watches her friend's face. At first she's confused. Then, after she opens a link, her eyes widen in surprise. And, of course, the final piece, the photo attachment, leaves Tina sitting on Santana's couch with her mouth hanging open in shock.

"Lucy is – "

"- Quinn fuckin-Fabray." Santana finishes for her. "I lambasted her on my blog numerous times and," she pauses and lets out a defeated breath, "and that's  _after_  she reblogged shit for Sal and was becoming a regular in chat."

"It's not like you knew," her friend says, trying to comfort her.

"No, instead I think I've figured it out," she chuckles humorlessly. "And I rub it in her face that I know her big secret and make her feel like shit for not telling me that she  _knows_  Quinn Fabray and that she's her fuckin' make-up girl or some stupid shit. Make-up girl, Tina! What the hell was I thinking?"

Tina doesn't reply. She's still working on the fact that her new online friend is about to star in the summer's next blockbuster movie.

"And she still wanted to come to the meet up but I can't exactly face her now, can I?" Santana paces in front of the couch as she talks. "I don't see how I could have made myself look like a bigger idiot."

Tina's eyes widen in realization. "You've been talking to Quinn Fabray almost every day for months now."

"I know."

"Quinn Fabray, Santana."

Santana sighs. "I know."

"Okay, I need a second because this completely changes my head canon for you," Tina says as she closes her eyes and presses her fingertips into her temples.

"You have head canon for me?" Santana's eyes widen and then she crinkles her nose. "And you told her  _I_  was weird?"

"You and Lucy, or as I liked to refer to you in my head Lutana, were kind of becoming my OTP. Well, you know, Chang-Squared is really my OTP …"

"Ohmygod, shut up right now." Santana shakes her head, closes her eyes tightly and covers her ears.

Tina shrugs. "Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not obvious to everyone else."

"Yeah, well, don't go writing any love stories about me feeling like I'm standing on the precipice or something. I hate that shit." Santana points at her friend, her tone serious. "And I don't do the dramatic abyss thing."

Tina rolls her eyes. "You can't tell a writer not to write."

"I'm telling you not to get any ideas with your crazy head canons. Go ship, like, Picard and Adama or something. Make  _that_ so."

Tina laughs at her friend's suggestion and then falls silent. She remains quiet, no doubt still mulling over the current situation. After a few moments, her eyes light up and she points at her friend, her mouth dropping open as she comes to another realization.

"Shut up, Tina. Just shut up."

"You have a  _crush_  on your celebrity crush!" her friend shouts, a beaming smile splitting her face.

Santana glares and scowls as she practically yells, "I told you that in confidence!"

Tina rolls her eyes. "There's no one else here. I'm not betraying your confidence."

"Just, stop saying things, okay?" she huffs, throws herself back into her chair and curls into a ball.

Her friend stares at her for a moment. "Can I just say one more thing?" she asks, her smile suddenly gone.

"Is it about Lucy?" Santana frowns. "Quinn. Whatever I'm supposed to call her now …"

"If I say no …?"

Santana rolls her eyes. " … then I'll know the answer is yes. And this conversation is over. It never should have started."

"Okay, but –" Tina starts.

"It's over," her friend gets up from her chair and stomps away.

Tina doesn't hesitate to follow her. She's only mildly embarrassed when she finds herself standing in a tiny bathroom with Santana glaring at her.

"I just wanted to say –" she tries again.

" - that you've got a new fetish?"

Tina frowns. "- that I think she likes you, too. You're the one she made an effort to talk to. And, anyway, if she didn't feel something for you, she would have just disappeared."

"You mean like she kind of has for the past few weeks?" Santana crosses her arms and challenges her friend.

"Maybe she's upset about something you wrote when you replied to her," Tina suggests. "You don't always choose the most diplomatic language."

"Like fuck I don't!"

Tina purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"Okay, point taken," Santana admits sullenly.

"So, what did you write?" her friend asks.

"I didn't." Santana doesn't wait for a reaction. She turns and busies herself straightening the little containers on the bathroom counter.

"You didn't reply?" Tina asks.

"No," her friend simply says.

Tina rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she walks out of the bathroom and back into the living room. She plops herself down on the couch and stares dejectedly at the blank television screen in front of her.

"The remote's under the cushion," Santana says when she enters the room a few minutes later. "I hid it because Brittany kept programming my DVR to record Kim Possible episodes."

Tina doesn't move. Instead, she just sighs loudly and continues to stare straight ahead, her high-top Chucks tapping impatiently against the wood floors.

"Is this the part when I ask you if you're mad at me?" Santana asks, tilting her head and giving her friend a bored look.

Tina scowls in response.

"Fine," she says, letting out a long-suffering breath. "Are you mad at me?"

"You didn't even write back to her."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Are you serious? You're mad at me - someone you've known for years, the person who took you to your first Comic Con - on behalf of someone we've been talking to for a few months?"

Tina stands up and grabs the tablet, pushing it at her friend. "She hasn't been around because  _you_ didn't tell her that you're not mad at her."

"Maybe I am mad at her," Santana says softly, pushing the tablet back at Tina.

She pushes it back one more time, a little more harshly than she means to. "You're not mad at her. You're embarrassed. There's a difference."

Santana grabs the tablet and lets herself fall lifeless into her chair. "I can't believe I was so stupid. I read over all of our chats …"

Tina interrupts her, smirking, "You kept your chat logs?"

"Shut up," her friend says, holding up her middle finger as if to punctuate her statement. "Anyway," she continues. "I read through the stuff I had and it all kind of made sense. That doesn't mean that she couldn't have been a make-up person. She totally could have!"

"I guess …"

"Eli said he was half of the department and she was the only other person in the room," Santana explains. "And they made it seem like her trailer was the make-up trailer and … what am I supposed to write back to her? Sorry you're a movie star? And, oh, remember when I kind of made fun of you? Yeah, let's pretend that didn't happen."

"You could just say you're sorry and you didn't mean it," Tina offers gently.

Santana grimaces.

"I think your pride can handle it," her friend says softly. She gets her phone out of her back pocket again and sends a quick text.

_: Do you prefer Lucy or Quinn?_

"What are you doing?"

"Texting a friend." Tina raises her brows.

Santana frowns, knowing that Mike's plane hasn't touched down yet and that Brittany is most likely stuck on the 405 trying to make her way up to LA for the meet up.

_: Good timing. They just called a wrap for me and I'm heading to my trailer.  
: I prefer Lucy. Quinn is a character my manager made up. He stole my middle name to do it._

"Are you going to text her all night?" Santana asks, grimacing.

"I sent her  _one_  text, Santana," Tina says. "And she prefers Lucy, by the way."

_: So, if it's a wrap for you, does that mean you are free to come to the meet up?_

"Two." Santana says, holding up two fingers and then pointing to Tina's phone.

:  _I still think I should pass._

"You need to call her," Tina says, holding out her phone.

Santana pushes her hand away, points to the phone on the coffee table and leans back in her chair. "I have a phone, thank you."

"Then use it! She's not coming because of  _you_ " Tina shakes her head and lets out an exasperated breath. "Why couldn't you have just emailed her and said that it was fine and you still want to be friends with her?"

Santana stares at Tina stubbornly, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Everyone is wrong sometimes," Tina says. "How long did I ship Snape and McGonagall before I came to my senses?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "You never did apologize for inflicting that ship on me."

"I'm sorry." Her friend leans toward her and touches her hand. "See how easy that was? I didn't die from saying two little words."

Santana gets up and heads for her bathroom again. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be out before Mike or Brittany gets here."

Tina watches her friend walk away and then, after a moment's deliberation, grabs the phone resting on the low table in front of her. She bites her lip as she quickly taps out a message.

:  _Tina said you're not coming tonight. I hope you change your mind. I've asked her to forward you the details._

With the message sent, she returns the phone to its previous spot and digs out the remote from under the couch cushion. By the time the water turns off in the bathroom, Tina's programmed her friend's DVR to record  _Teen Wolf_.


	9. Chapter 9

“Coming up next? The cast of Teen Titans!” A well-dressed woman smiles winningly from where she stands in front of an interview set, complete with a long couch, a comfortable looking chair and a coffee table with flowers and mugs bearing the show’s logo. Her announcement is met by applause and whistles from her audience.   
  
The music starts up and a man steps out from behind one of the cameras and gives the talk show host the thumbs up.

 

A young man runs out from behind the backdrop. He’s smiling widely and clapping along with the fading music. “You’re such a great crowd! Are you ready for the Teen Titans?”

 

The audience hollers and claps even as the host slips off-set to the let warm-up man do his job.

 

“Alright! We’ve got a little surprise for you,” he says, popping his brows up and down comically. “A couple lucky people in the audience,” he points at an elderly woman, “could be you, young lady – will get to come down here. Yes, right here where I’m standing and play a game with our next guests.”

 

Brittany squeals and claps her hands as soon as she hears the word _game_ leave the warm-up guy’s mouth. It catches his attention.

 

“You think you can take on the Titans?” he asks as he grins at her.

 

The blonde nods furiously, already standing up.

 

“Whoa, whoa!” The warm-up guy puts his hands up. “Not yet. I need four -“ he looks to Brittany and winks at her, “- three volunteers.”

 

Brittany raises Tina’s hand and waves it around. In her excitement, she doesn’t hear the “ow” her friend mutters as she tries to wrestle her arm free from her friend’s grasp. 

 

After very little deliberation, four people – Brittany and Tina, included – are instructed as to what will happen when the commercial break is over. Until they are called down, they’re supposed to stay in their seats and, more importantly, they aren’t supposed to engage the celebrity guests while cameras are rolling apart from their participation in the game. They’re promised that they will get the opportunity to talk with them during the following commercial break.

 

The man behind the camera gestures to the warm-up entertainer and he throws his arms out to the audience. “Okay, coming back now. Remember, energy! Be loud and let our host know that you love her! Once again, everyone … here’s your host, Mercedes Jones!”

 

The audience starts cheering as Mercedes walks on set. She picks up a handheld mic and thanks the audience before taking her place. “Thank you! You’re a great crowd! On fire!”

 

The man behind the camera counts her in and, just as he points to her, the show’s theme music starts to play and the audience is cued to applaud even more.

 

“You know my next guests from television, movies and even music,” she begins, smiling brightly at the camera. “Today, you’re going to get a chance to know them as the popular comic book team, the Teen Titans. Please help me welcome Blaine Anderson, Sam Evans, Quinn Fabray and Kurt Hummel!” 

 

As their names are called, the actors walk onto the set. Everyone enters in their own style. Blaine practically runs onto the set. He smiles widely as he waves energetically to the audience. He even gives a little wink and thumbs up to the camera.

 

Sam takes long, purposeful strides as he walks in, his hand up high as he waves to the crowd. Hearing whistles and the teen girls in the audience shouting at him, his cheeks redden a little and he smiles shyly as makes his way over to the host.

 

Quinn walks demurely onto the set. She smiles politely during the short journey across the floor and then furrows her brow in confusion when she hears a few shrill voices shout her name. She chuckles to herself and gives a little wave before taking her spot next to Sam.

  
Sam leans over and whispers, “You got some fans, Fabray!”

 

She whispers back, “No one gave me a gift bag with panties in it, so I’m not up to your level yet.”

 

By the time Sam stops chuckling, Kurt is almost across the set. He’s waving to the crowd as though he’s seeing them from atop a Macy’s float. When he gets to what would be center stage, he low-bows and, instead of taking his expected mark next to Quinn, he positions himself between Mercedes and Blaine.

 

“Calm down, calm down,” Mercedes says as she half-heartedly tries to quiet the audience. She laughs when they get a little louder and then she turns to Kurt, “This goin’ to your head yet?” 

 

“I could use a little more,” Kurt jokes, making the audience start another round of applause. He puts his hands up, “I was kidding! Just kidding!”  He winks as he holds his finger up to his mouth and shushes the crowd.

 

“Now you just finished shooting Teen Titans,” Mercedes begins. “Everyone always asks about the stunts and training and we’ll get to that but I want to know about your costumes. What can we expect to see your hero counterparts wearing?” 

 

Blaine pushes his lips together into a sneaky smile and his eyes light up. “I can tell you this,” he stops and looks at the audience, “tights may be involved.” He playfully half-grimaces.

 

“Which, then,” Sam interrupts, “brings us right back to that training thing you were talking about.” He pats his abdomen. “Wardrobe wouldn’t splurge for those cool shirts, y’know, with abs painted on them.”

 

“What was the most difficult thing you had to do physically?” Mercedes asks.

 

“Make sure to move out of the way when this one,” Blaine points his thumb in Quinn’s direction, “really got into it.”   
  
Sam nods and jokes, “I’m just glad she was on our team.”

 

“The fight scenes were choreographed really,” Quinn emphasizes, “ _really_ well. All accolades should go to the many diligent dance instructors I’ve had the pleasure of learning from. I started dance when I was four, so …”

 

“Quinn and Kurt could take me and Blaine any day,” Sam adds. “I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

 

Mercedes shakes her head and points to Sam. “I don’t know, Sam. You have plenty of dance in your background. In fact, I had _my_ team pull this out of the archives in case you needed a reminder.”

 

A video comes to life on the giant screen at the back of the set. Sam and three other guys are dancing along to a pop song they are performing. The audience starts to hoot and applaud when he does his famous body roll in the videotaped performance.

 

Sam has the grace to laugh at himself, even as his cheeks redden. “That’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

 

“Yes, probably,” Mercedes says, laughing along with his cast mates and the audience. “Now, how much did you research for these roles? Quinn,” the host focuses the question, “this role is unlike anything you’ve done before. Did that mean a different kind of preparation for you?”

 

Quinn shakes her head. “No, it’s really not _that_ different. There are more wires and stunts, but the character herself isn’t really that different from any other character I could have played. In the past I learned about my characters by reading biographies, poetry and really delving into the history in which they lived. For this, I read comic books, online essays, visited blogs dedicated to Donna Troy and even looked at a few Wikipedia articles.” 

 

“Sam and Blaine were already well-versed in all things comics,” Kurt adds. “Quinn and I had some catching up to do.”

 

“Well, let’s see how well you did, then.” Mercedes turns to the audience. “Y’all know that _Guess That Celebrity_ is one of my favorite games. Well, today we’re doing a new version! Let’s bring down our four volunteers to play _Guess That Hero!_ ”

 

A couple of production assistants motion for the volunteers to make their way to the floor as the audience claps and the Superman movie theme starts to play. Brittany grabs Tina’s hand and practically skips all the way to where the warm-up guy indicated they should stand.

 

Quinn squints at the two girls as they get closer and then bites her lip when she thinks she recognizes them.

 

“What are your names and where are you from?” Mercedes holds the mic out toward the excited blonde.

 

Brittany takes the mic from her and smiles brightly. “I’m Brittany from Anaheim. And I’d like to be paired with Sam.” The blonde pokes her finger in the direction of the former boy-band member and then grins at Quinn. “Hi, Quinn! It’s nice to see you in person!”

 

Mercedes takes her microphone back as the audience laughs. 

 

When the mic is pointed at her, Tina introduces herself. “Tina from San Diego. Hi.”

 

Quinn misses when the other two volunteers introduce themselves as Dave from Oregon and Mike from Boston.  She’s focused on Tina and doesn’t notice that neither of the final two volunteers suggests who they want to be paired with for the game. They probably don’t feel the need to verbalize what their eyes, trained on Quinn, already say.

 

“To be fair,” Mercedes begins,” we’ve written your names on pieces of paper. Our guests will choose their partners …” she pauses and then points to red vinyl boot that her production assistant wheels out and stops in front of them. “… from the Super Boot. Heroes?”

 

One by one the actors line up and pull names. Kurt gets Dave, Blaine gets Mike, and Quinn blinks a few times before she announces that she’s with Tina. With that announcement, Brittany squeals and jumps in place. Sam acts surprised when he pulls Brittany’s name from the boot, causing the blond to start hopping on her mark again. 

 

“The rules are simple,” Mercedes begins. “Get your partner to guess your hero without saying the hero’s name before the timer goes off.  If you don’t guess, you’re out. Last one standing is the winner!”

 

Brittany smiles widely and leans close to Sam. whispering. “We’ve got this. I know bunches about comic books plus I know every Disney character and his or her nemesis. Also? I like the word nemesis. It’s totally cool, right?”

 

Sam smiles sweetly at her and winks.

 

The timer starts and Dave fumbles a bit with his card. “Uh, so, this is a dude and he, uh …”   
  
Kurt just starts naming all the comic book characters he knows, “Batman, Robin, Superman …”

 

“Uh, he’s green …”

 

 “Hulk!”

 

A ding indicates that Kurt answers correctly and it’s Mike and Blaine’s turn.

 

“Totally hot chick who flies.”

 

Blaine waits for more, his eyes wide when he doesn’t get any further clues. “Super Girl?”

 

Mike high fives his very confused partner when another ding sounds.

 

Tina smiles sweetly. “It’s hammer time.”

 

Quinn laughs and says, “Thor.”

 

Brittany claps happily, her head turned toward her friend, as she hears the correction answer sound. Sam taps her shoulder, laughing. “Clues?”

 

“He’s old but not really.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen. “He’s what?”

 

“Like from a long time ago but he’s young now. And he’s, like, totally confused by things like the internet and cell phones. Old people are sometimes confused by those things.” She holds her finger up and looks him in the eye. “But he’s not _really_ old.”

 

“Uh,” Sam swallows roughly.

 

“He’s an Avenger.” Brittany adds, helpfully.

 

Just before the buzzer goes off, her trivia partner shouts “Captain America!”

 

Dave makes a face as he reads his next card. “I’m not sure I know who this is … but his last name is like anger.”

 

“Like rhymes with anger?”

 

“Not, it means the same thing.”

 

Sam rubs his hands together and smiles as he listens to Kurt and his partner repeat the word “anger” over and over again. As the buzzer goes off, he whispers to Brittany, “Nick Fury.”

 

Dave takes a seat off to the side with Kurt and Mike reads from his card. “Geez, why are we getting all the chicks? Chick in a wheelchair.”   
  
Blaine sighs, not really wanting to give the answer to such a horrendous clue. “Barbara Gordon, or Oracle.”

 

Tina laughs as she reads her card. “Um,” she shrugs, “you.”

 

“Me?” Quinn tilts her head. “Oh, Donna Troy? Wonder Girl?”  She laughs as the dinger goes off. “Hardly seems fair.”

 

Brittany is already flailing her arms as she tries to explain her hero. “He’s like Robin Hood but he doesn’t steal from anyone. He just shoots people with something I can’t say because it may or may not be part of his name. But, really, it is part of his name.”

 

“Green Arrow.”

 

“You’re so smart!” Brittany puts her hand up for a high five.

 

Blaine’s partner squints at his card. “Um, he’s … uh … I have no idea. I guess he, or maybe she, probably has a sword?”

 

“Probably has a sword?” Blaine’s forehead wrinkles as he tries to think. 

 

“Or, you know, a razor. Something sharp, I guess.”

 

Blaine frowns. “Um, there are actually a number of heroes who use swords.”   
  
“Name some, you might get it!”

 

The buzzer goes off and Mike shows Blaine the card with the name “Blade” on it. 

“Dude, you could have mentioned that he’s a kind of a vampire. I wouldn’t have guessed Elektra if you’d have said that.”

 

“He’s a vampire?” Mike asks as they join Dave and Kurt.

 

Kurt taps Blaine’s arm. “Elektra has sais. Totally different than a sword.”

 

 Tina reads her card and then looks Quinn directly in the eye. “There have been six vessels … and a Mobius … trip.”

 

Quinn’s eyes light up as she recalls one of her discussions with Santana about two characters traversing over a giant eternity symbol. She smiles and softly says, “Promethea. My favorite …”

 

Sam frowns. “Okay, it’s on, Fabray …” He gives Brittany a supportive smile. “Let’s go, partner.”

 

“Uhm, he wears red and has an “I” on his chest,” she says confidently. “And he’s not allowed to wear a cape because someone got sucked into an airplane jet once.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen. “He what? He has an eye on his chest?”

 

“Yeah, for his last name.”

 

Sam just stares at her.   
  
“He’s fat, but his wife is thin and stretchy and they’re the best heroes because they are heroes _and_ Disney,” Brittany rambles.

 

“Uh, I really, really don’t know… Mr. Incredible?” Sam asks, sure that he’s wrong. Brittany jumps up and down before hugging him tightly.

 

The guy behind the camera gestures to Mercedes and she interrupts before Tina can read from her card. “We’re going to have to settle for a tie!” The host gives the remaining teams an impressed smile. “I didn’t expect anyone to get past Captain America! All four of our audience players will receive two tickets to the Los Angeles premiere of _Teen Titans_ and our two winners will be joining the cast on the red carpet!”

 

The audience applauds wildly as Mercedes tries to talk over their noise. “We’ll be back with more of your Teen Titans!”  

 

The four guests and their game partners get a few minutes to visit as the crew fixes the lighting and refreshes the set during the break that, later, will be a commercial break.

 

“You didn’t come to the meet up,” Tina says, almost immediately.

 

Quinn bites her lip and sighs. “You know, Santana and I have texted a lot. Or, we used to text a lot. And there was only one time she used your real name when talking about you.” She looks into her friend’s eyes and smirks. “When she wasn’t Santana and she was you.”

 

Tina frowns comically.

 

“I learned my lesson from when Brittany… ” When she hears her name, the bubbly blonde waves at Quinn with her free hand. The girl’s other arm is wrapped around Sam’s. Quinn chuckles and continues, “… when she wrote to me from Santana’s account.”

 

“Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean that Santana didn’t want to,” Tina tries to explain.

 

Quinn shakes her head. “If she wanted to, she would have.”

 

Brittany bounces over to where her friend is talking to – well, if she stops to think about it – where her two friends, one of whom she’s never met before – are talking. “Hi, Lucy!”

 

Tina nudges the hyper girl who responds by frowning and rubbing ribs where the other girl elbowed her.

 

Quinn wrinkles her nose cutely and hugs the girl. “It’s okay. Usually, I prefer Lucy only in private. But since we’re friends …”

 

“We’re totally friends!” Brittany hugs her tightly and hops in place, making Quinn wobble in place. “You should hang out with me and Tina before she goes back to boring ol’ San Diego.”

 

“It’s not boring, Brittany,” Tina defends.

 

“Name one theme park in your city,” her friend challenges.

 

Tina simply rolls her eyes.

 

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. “I’d love to, but …” Her words stop when Brittany’s brilliant smile melts into an adorable pout. “Uh …”

 

Tina presses her lips together to keep from laughing.

 

“Uhm,” Quinn looks to Tina for help but the other girl simply raises her shoulders in a completely non-sympathetic shrug. “Okay, if I can get away from some of the press stuff I have to do, I’ll meet up with you, okay? Just …” she shakes her head and laughs “ … just stop pouting!”

 

Brittany smiles radiantly as she hops in place and claps her hands. “I win!”

 

Tina finally lets herself laugh and whispers, “Sucker.”

 

“You could have warned me,” Quinn says, her soft laughter dying down.

  
They don’t have time to make any plans beyond that Tina and Brittany will wait outside the studio for Quinn after the show. The two girls are ushered back to their seats before the theme music starts again and the actors are seated on the couch to finish their appearance.

 

The rest of the interview goes well with Mercedes throwing a lot of questions to Quinn. During their private pre-show interview, the talk show host mentioned that she was really impressed with the clips she’d seen of the film and of how Quinn really held her own with, if not outshined, her male costars.

 

Everyone knows that if Mercedes Jones gives you the stamp of approval, all of day-time television watching America will give you a stamp of approval.

 

Quinn’s smart enough to know not to question it but to accept it with modesty and grace.

 

Something she isn’t quite prepared to accept is the line of fans waiting for her autograph after she finishes taping. After leaving her dressing room, she’s ushered by a security officer to a door that opens to a screaming throng of fans. Sam and Kurt seem used to it and Blaine just keeps flashing his smile at everyone who approaches him and waving his Sharpie in the air with the hope that it will land on one of the many photos being thrust at him.

 

Sure, Quinn’s done her share of red carpet premiers and she’s stopped to sign a few autographs here and there. She thinks most of the signatures were for dealers to sell on EBay, but she signed them just in case. What she’s never experienced is a mob of people pushing photos and markers at her and shouting her name.

 

The fact that someone has printed out the image she posted of Santana’s drawing – the one of her as Donna Troy - absolutely amazes her.

 

By the time the crowd has dissipated, Quinn is rolling her wrist and blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. She meets her friends by the security cart and shakes her head, “I had no idea that was going to happen.” She grimaces. “Sorry for taking so long.”

 

Brittany shrugs. “I got to sit in the cart and pretend to drive it. Don’t worry; I didn’t go over the posted thirteen miles per hour limit.”

 

“It’s fine,” Tina says, ignoring Brittany. “You’re just doing your job. I had to wait for Brittany to sign stuff for kids most of yesterday.”

 

“I was Pluto, again,” the blonde shares.

 

Quinn nods. “I talked to my manager before being introduced to the masses,” she says. “I’m clear for the night. So, if you want to do something …”

 

“Pizza!” Brittany shouts.

 

Tina grabs her friend’s hand to calm her down. “Delivery. I think Quinn’s had enough crowds for one day.” She turns to her other friend, “You in, Quinn?”

 

“As long as you call me Lucy, then, yes,” she answers sincerely. “Away from the cameras and …” Quinn waves her hand vaguely, “all of this, I’m still just Lucy.”

 

“Okay, then,” Tina says, smiling brightly, “Lucy.”

 

The other two girls talk animatedly all the way through the back lot with Lucy trying to follow the conversation. It’s not easy because Brittany is squealing after every two sentences and Lucy is mostly focusing on making sure the girl doesn’t fall over as she walks backward almost the entire way to the parking structure. Tina’s giggling and nodding at her friend doesn’t help Lucy’s ability to comprehend the chipper girl.

 

She finds herself chauffeured to her car in a bright yellow Jeep – she’s not surprised when she learns it belongs to Brittany; she has a Mickey ears antenna topper and everything – and then she’s following the same car from Burbank to her own West Hollywood neighborhood. 

 

It’s when she’s staring at a framed drawing of the Serenity with _Ship like this, be with you till the day you die_ printed under itthat Lucy stops to consider if Tina is incredibly clever or if she’s just really gullible. There’s a nervous rolling in her stomach when she realizes, with Tina living in San Diego and Brittany rarely venturing far from the Disneyland Resort, she’s standing in front of Santana’s door.

 

Tina pounds on the door and the knot in Lucy’s stomach tightens. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea …” she says, softly.

 

“Pizza is always a good idea,” Brittany chirps.

 

The door opens and Lucy swallows roughly, preparing herself for – for what? She’s not really sure.   
  
“What happened to the key I gave you?” Santana asks as the door opens.  She turns around and heads back to her seat on the comfy chair without looking back at her friends. As she sits, she grabs the Chewbacca backpack she was using as a pillow and clutches it against her stomach.

 

Brittany holds up her key ring. “It’s right here!”

 

Tina wraps her arm around Brittany’s and walks into the apartment, keeping Lucy hidden behind her. “So, we had a great time at the MJ Show. You should have come with us.”   
  
Santana grunts disinterestedly. “When’s it air?”

 

“Day after tomorrow. I’ll set your DVR!” Brittany quickly moves out of the formation Tina set up, leaving Lucy standing, wide-eyed, in the doorway.

 

“No! Don’t touch my-“ Santana’s words die in her throat. She stares at Lucy for a long moment and then, after blinking owlishly at the girl a number of times, she slowly turns her head to the blonde who is pulling up the couch cushions in search of the remote. “I moved it,” she informs her friend. “I missed my show because _someone_ ,” she glares at Tina, “recorded a marathon of a show about a hairy teenager.”  

 

“I thought you’d want to catch up on the episodes you missed,” Tina explains. “Which, is, y’know, all of them.”

 

Lucy hangs back even as Tina leaves her side to start righting the upended cushions.   
  
Santana rolls her eyes before she says, “You can come in, you know.”

 

“If she was a vampire, you would be in so much trouble right now,” Brittany says off-handedly as she lays on the floor and tries to look under the couch.  

 

“Lucy Q isn’t a vampire,” Santana says, dismissing her friend’s statement. “She’s a down-right hero, from what I hear.”

 

From where she’s crouched next to the couch, Tina slaps her friend’s leg and whispers, “Be nice.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Lucy says before standing uselessly in front of the door, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.  She lets out a slow breath and squares her shoulders. “If you’re mad at me, I’d rather you just say it. I never really took you for the silent treatment type.”

 

Santana simply rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat, pulling her legs up and curling herself around her Wookie bag.

 

“She’s not mad at you,” Brittany says, though her words are muffled as she reaches under the couch. She pulls out PlayStation controller and frowns at it.  “San …”

 

“- I’m not telling you where it is. I missed an episode that revolved completely around Red’s back story –“

 

“Wait,” Tina stands up and holds out her hand. “You won’t watch a show about a teenage werewolf but you’ll watch a show about fairy tale characters that turn into wolves? It’s practically the same thing.”

 

“It’s _not_ the same thing,” Santana stresses. “One is lame.” She points to Tina. “The other is not.” She points to herself.

 

“Your logic is lame,” Tina offers before rolling her eyes and continuing the search for the remote.

 

“If I may,” Lucy begins meekly. “I think part of it is that you go into Santana’s show with an understanding that things – fairy tale things – are going to happen. Magic is explained, in a way. In your show, Tina, as far as I can tell, at least, this thing just happens and there is no effort to try to explain to the audience why.”   
  
Tina frowns.

 

“Uh,” Lucy swallows and bites her lip. “I don’t actually watch it, so … maybe there’s a reason …”

 

“Nope. Dude turns hairy and maybe has the hots for another dude,” Santana says succinctly.

 

Brittany huffs, giving up on her search, and turns to sit cross-legged in front of the couch. “That’s why Tina likes it. She likes when boys like other boys. Almost all of her OTPs are male.”   
  
“Not all,” Tina says, grinning wickedly at Santana. “There’s one female couple I _really_ ship right now.”   
  
Before she can say anything more, Santana launches Chewbacca at her. “Silence in the library!”

 

Tina catches the bag and laughs.

 

Lucy shuffles her feet, feeling awkward and intrusive. “So,” she starts, settling her gaze on Santana. “Should I maybe go, then?”

 

“No,” Tina blurts out. “No,” she repeats a little more calmly. She shoots a pleading look in her friend’s direction and Santana sighs.

 

“I’ve already ordered a shit load of pizza, so …” she forces herself to meet Lucy’s gaze. “It’d be cool if you wanted to stay. We have beer an’ stuff.”

 

Lucy offers the other girl a soft half-smile. “Okay, I’ll stay,” she says before her smile fades, “if we can talk … alone?”

 

“Can I bring my beer?”

 

The actor nods.

 

“Deal.”  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So, as I mentioned on my Tumblr, I ended up needing (for personal reasons) to deviate from my weekly update schedule. I'm going to try really hard not to have that happen again. With the holidays and (again) personal stuff, I simply can't guarantee. As a reward for waiting, I used the word "duck" a lot. How that's a reward, I'm not really sure. But, still. I ended up using "duck" more in this chapter than I've ever used in anything (sans conversations about Donald and/or Daisy and/or Howard the). 
> 
> 2\. Random something: I'm planning some one-shots from this 'verse. If there's something I've already written that you want to know more about, let me know. I've got insane head canon on this ... insane. 
> 
> 3\. There is no three. But it felt weird to have a numbered list that only had two items.

“When you asked if you could bring your beer,” Lucy says as she eyes the six-pack - minus one bottle - sitting on the edge of the sink and grimaces, “I didn’t realize we’d be talking in a bathroom.” 

  
Santana shrugs from where she is reclining in the tub. “Too late.” She brings the bottle up to her lips and tilts it, taking a healthy swig. “Just don’t think too much about the color,” she suggests with a wink.

 

Lucy looks around the bathroom and smirks when she spies a Darth Vader rubber duck sitting on a shelf next to the tub.

 

Santana turns her head to see what her friend is smiling at. She points to the rubber, helmeted mallard and announces, “That’s not mine.”

 

Her friend raises an eyebrow and decides to change the subject. Catching her friend with Star Wars bath toys, while entertaining, isn’t what she was hoping to accomplish with this talk. “Why are we in here, again?”

 

 “I like the acoustics.”

 

Lucy leans against the sink, tilts her head and stares at her friend. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and waits for the other girl to start.

 

She hadn’t planned to run into Santana or, more accurately, to be delivered to the girl’s doorstep. Had Lucy had any idea she’d be in the same room with her – about to have  _the talk_  – she would have prepared something. At the very least, she would have practiced her glare for when the girl really started throwing barbs. 

 

Instead of a tirade, as she expects, Santana simply looks at her from the corner of her eye and quietly says, “If you think that standing there looking uncomfortable is going to score you my spot in the tub, forget it. You can have the toilet.”

 

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I prefer to stand, thank you.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust as her friend takes a long drink of beer.

 

“You can stop being grossed out,” Santana says. “I have guests. I cleaned the bathroom while they were at the show. Toilet’s whiter than,” she looks the other girl up and down. “ … eh, too easy. Can you stop doing that? You’re making me nervous …”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Looking at me,” Santana answers in a clipped tone.

 

Lucy shakes her head and crosses her arms as she stares at the shower curtain. She squints and tilts her head. “Is that Asteroids? No – the other one with the UFO that goes across the top …”

 

“Galaga. And yes.” Santana nods a few times before they once again fall into silence. “So …”

 

“… so?”

 

“So, talk,” the girl in the tub says. 

 

“I don’t really know what to say that I didn’t say in my email,” Lucy confesses as she leans against the counter. “I’ve been trying to come up with something to – I don’t know – fix this but I haven’t figured it out yet.” She glances at Santana and adds, “I really didn’t think you’d be this mad.”

 

The other girl shrugs and picks at the Blue Moon label on her bottle. “I never said I was mad.”

 

“You didn’t reply to my email,” Lucy says as though that is basis enough for her assumption.

 

“Maybe I was busy. Because, you know, I could have just been really busy.”

 

“So, you were just busy …” Lucy says slowly.

 

“No. Not really,” Santana replies lightly. “I’ve had a lot of down time since I finished my last request and even wrapped up one of my freelance contracts.” 

 

If she really wanted to twist the knife, she could let the other girl know that, up until her friends arrived, she’d been bored out of her mind. Bored enough, in fact, to watch one of those drummer-with-a-heart-of-gold Finndie movies.

 

That’s what she’d taken to calling Finn Hudson films: Finndies. 

 

Lucy rolls her eyes and frowns.

 

“That’s not an attractive look,” the other girl offers before drinking her beer. After lowering the bottle, she squints at her friend. “You’re blond again … no connection to my previous statement, by the way.”

 

Santana gets a shrug for the effort of her observation.

 

“Are you mad that I didn’t reply to your email?” she finally asks. She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the torn label on her beer bottle.

 

Lucy’s brows furrow. “I don’t think mad’s the word …”

 

“Furious? Enraged? Incensed?”

 

The other girl laughs. “No …,” she draws out the word before continuing. “More like,” she clears her throat,” Disappointed or … sad or …” Lucy hesitates. “Sorry, I didn’t eat a thesaurus today like some people …”

 

Santana’s eyes immediately shift to the girl leaning against the counter. “Sad, though?” she asks in disbelief – or is it hope?

 

“I thought we were friends,” Lucy explains simply. “I know I didn’t handle the identity thing so well, but I thought we could still be friends and when you so easily cut me off …”

 

“It wasn’t easy,” the other girl says under her breath.

 

“What?”

 

Santana rolls her eyes and looks away, a scowl settling on her face. “Do you have any idea how stupid you made me feel?” Her eyes are trained on the label, again, as she carefully peels it away from the glass. “Like Lois Lane, right? Not able to see Superman because of a boring hairstyle and pair of hipster glasses.” 

 

“That wasn’t my intention,” Lucy tries to explain. “And you have no reason to feel –“

 

Santana glares at her. “But I do.”

 

The other girl swallows roughly and nods. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I really never expected –“

 

“ – to want to be friends with some online geek patrol,” Santana finishes for her. “I know. You were going to troll around, get what you wanted and then disappear, right? Get people to think-“ she holds up her fingers and air quotes – “ _Lucy_  is really great and then just have her go away when you got what you needed.” 

 

“I  _am_  Lucy.”

 

“No, you’re Quinn Fabray,” the other girl corrects her. “Lucy doesn’t exist.”

 

Lucy huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s hardly fair! What should I have done? Would you have believed me if I told you who I was? Or, even better, would you have even bothered with me?”

 

Santana narrows her eyes in confusion and grimaces. “What the hell does that mean? Bothered with you …”

 

“You made it very clear how you feel about  _Quinn Fabray_  on many occasions.” Lucy’s mouth is pulled down into a frown and her voice gets louder.  “So, excuse me if I didn’t jump right in with   _and I’m her_.”

 

“So you pretend to be someone else because you can’t take a little criticism?” Santana accuses.

 

“A little?! A little? I could practically feel the venom in my veins when you wrote about me getting the role in this movie.” Lucy’s eyes well up but she purses her lips and juts out her chin, willing herself not to get too emotional.

 

“Yet you still wanted to be my friend …”

 

The other girl exhales. “It wasn’t about being your friend. I told you – that came later. But I do,” the girl strains to keep her voice steady, “I still do. That’s why I wrote you the email. I wanted to you to know me because the person you were talking to online was me – I wasn’t pretending to be anyone. That’s me.”  

 

Santana doesn’t respond. She just scoots down, rests her head against the back of the tub and closes her eyes.

 

“Santana …”

 

“Lucy Q …”

 

Santana’s eyes remain closed.

 

“Is there anything I can say that will make this easier?”

 

The other girl hums softly as though considering her friend’s question. “I really don’t think so.”

 

A loud knock against the bathroom door makes both girls jump. Lucy’s hand rests against her chest as she stares wide-eyed at the door and Santana lets out a stream of expletives after she spills her beer on her jeans.

 

“Be nice!” Brittany says loudly.

 

There’s a scuffle from the other side of the door and they can hear Tina stage-whisper, “You weren’t supposed to say anything. Now they know we were listening … “

 

Brittany whispers back just as loudly, “But Santana’s not apo-!”

 

From her place in the tub Santana shouts, “Get away from the door or you both sleep in Mike’s rental car tonight!” She frowns and chances a look at the other girl. “It’s a compact, so … you know.”

 

Lucy grabs a towel and gently tosses it to her friend. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m heading out anyway.”

 

“You’re leaving?” Santana asks, surprised.

 

The other girl glares at her. “Why would I stay? Short of some sort of ritual sacrifice, it seems there’s nothing I can do to right this. What’s to stay for?”

 

Santana points to the door. “Tina. Britts.”  She rolls her eyes. “You came to hang out with them, right? I mean, they asked you to hang out and you agreed. So, go – hang out. It’s not like I asked you to come to the meet up or anything and you didn’t, you know, show up.”

 

Lucy clenches her jaw before stating in a deadly calm voice, “You didn’t reply to my email. I told you I was emailing you. I asked you to respond if you still wanted me to go.” She points at the other girl. “ _You_  didn’t.” 

 

“Maybe I didn’t get your email.”

 

“You got my email, Santana.”

 

“Did you do a read receipt?”

 

“You got my email. I know you did.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Santana challenges the other girl, a slow smirk spreading across her lips.

 

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Lucy finally shouts.

 

There’s a short rap on the bathroom door and then Brittany timidly calls out, “If you knock each other’s teeth out, I get your pizza, okay?” 

 

Santana frowns and whispers harshly. “You made me look like a fool. Even worse,” she adds, “you made me feel like one.”

 

“How?” the other girl asks desperately. “My not telling you who I was … am … has nothing to do with  _you_. Can’t you see that?”

 

Santana looks down at her jeans and pokes the spot where her beer spilled. From the corner of her eye, she sees Lucy watching her and, with an exasperated huff, she reaches forward and pulls the shower curtain closed. 

 

“Does this mean we’re done?” Lucy asks softly as she stares at an 8-bit alien on the black curtain.

 

“No,” the other girl replies sullenly. A hand holding an empty beer bottle pokes out from behind the curtain. “Another, please.”

 

“Santana,” Lucy says as she takes the bottle and places it on the counter behind her. She fishes out the bottle opener from the beer carton and, after popping off the cap, she pushes a full bottle into her friend’s hand. “I get that you’re upset that I lied – well, didn’t tell the entire truth – but I was hoping we could get past it.”

 

“Why?” Santana asks, chuckling humorlessly. “See, that’s the part I just don’t get. Why do you even care after what I said about you?”

 

Lucy grabs a beer and, after a cursory look at the toilet – honestly, it really does look very clean – opens it and takes a long drink. She grimaces after swallowing. “Your beer’s not even cold.”

 

“So. The pizza will be and that’s a good counter-balance.”

 

Lucy shakes her head and smiles. “I care because the stuff you said wasn’t about me. Not really,” she explains. “You don’t like Quinn Fabray? Fine. You don’t have to like  _her_.” She pokes her head through the curtain and looks down at her friend. “But understand that Quinn is the one who doesn’t exist, okay? Lucy does. And Lucy is the one who is concerned that you don’t like her anymore.”

 

Santana looks up, her cheeks coloring slightly. After a brief moment, she clears her throat. “You’re not going to Norman Bates me are you? Like, a weird Sybil version or something?”

 

The other girl closes the shower curtain and before her friend can say anything, she pulls it back at the opposite end of the tub. “Move your feet. I’m tired of standing.”

 

“I told you, you get the toilet,” Santana reminds her friend even as she moves her feet to make room.

 

“We’re not that close yet,” Lucy says as she slips into the tub and tries to find a comfortable position without jabbing herself in the back with the faucet. “I don’t sit on the toilet in front of just anyone.”   
  
“But we’re close enough to share a bath?” the other girl asks, her smirk in full effect.

 

Lucy chuckles. “Hardly,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t take baths with people who are giving me the silent treatment,” she says haughtily. She juts out her chin and rolls her eyes away from her friend.

 

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” Santana argues.

 

“You didn’t answer my email,” Lucy reminds the girl.

 

“You didn’t sign in to chat.”

 

“You didn’t let me know you wanted me to.”

 

“You didn’t even try to text me.”   
  
“Again, you didn’t give me a reason to think you wanted me to.”

 

“Well, you –“ 

 

The other girl laughs. “You do realize that you’re arguing with me about us taking a bath together, don’t you?”

 

Santana’s mouth snaps shut and she stares down at the bottle in her hand.

 

Lucy nudges her friend’s leg with her own. “Silent treatment?”

 

The other girl rolls her eyes and tries to glare. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

 

“Sitting in a bathtub, fully clothed and drinking beer?” Lucy asks, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Because you seem  _really_  good at it. Do you do this often?”  

 

Santana grumbles, her eyes never leaving the beer label, “You’re supposed to be on the other side of the curtain.”

 

“I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” Lucy says softly.

 

The other girl sighs. “I don’t want  _you_  to hide. That’s not – it’s – that’s not what I was saying.”

 

“So, what  _were_  you saying?”

 

“Forget it.”

 

Lucy stretches her legs out and props her feet on the edge of the tub. “I’m pretty comfortable now, so…  I can wait …”

 

“You’re not going to out-stubborn me, Lucille. It’s not going to happen,” Santana raises her eyebrows, challenging the other girl.

 

“You have a lot to learn about me,” her friend answers. “And it’s Lucy.”

 

The corners of Santana’s mouth curl down as she presses her lips together. “Please, you’ll fold the second that beer hits your bladder.”

 

“I’m not the one working on my second.” Lucy holds up her nearly full bottle, smiling widely and raising one eyebrow in an answer to the other girl’s challenge.

 

Santana frowns. Her friend has a point.   
  
“So, you’re mad at me because …” Lucy prompts.   
  
“Currently? For being in my tub.”

 

“I’ll add it to the list,” the other girl says. She holds up her hand and start ticking off reasons she thinks her friend is mad. “I wasn’t entirely truthful – “ When Santana glares at her, she defends herself, “I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t. I just didn’t give you important information about who I am.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Okay, I wasn’t entirely truthful,” Lucy repeats. “I didn’t contact you after sending you an email requesting that you contact me …”   
  
Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

 

“I don’t know what else.”

 

“You’re not a very good listener, then,” the other girl says, her mouth falling into a small pout. 

 

“I’m trying. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

 

“You put me in a place I hate to be, does  _that_  count for anything?”

 

“What place?” Lucy asks, exasperated. “The bathroom wasn’t  _my_  idea.”

 

Santana doesn’t know how to say what it is she wants to say. If only Lucy was on the other side of the damned shower curtain things would be so much easier.

 

She could say that she felt badly about the things she wrote in her blog. She could say that she didn’t know how to apologize without making it look like she’s only apologizing because she feels like got caught doing something wrong.

 

And that’s not the case at all. Sure, the artist has been known to rant and have blog-rage over plot twists in her favorite comic books, characters deaths in her favorite shows and, as is the issue at hand now, casting of her favorite characters in comic book movies. But after the rage dies down, there is usually a post accepting and even promoting whatever caused her to lash out in the first place.

 

Only twice did she let her anger-blogs stand with no follow up - and both followed WhedonThon, an annual marathon she and her friends created. Last year’s marathon was  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_  and the blog appeared after “Seeing Red” in which Willow’s girlfriend was needlessly gunned down. The year before the blog was pounded out after watching  _Serenity_ and reliving Wash’s death for the thirteenth time.

 

Santana frowns.   
  
“Santana?” Lucy asks with an amused smile that is flirting with the idea of growing into something bigger.

 

“I’m thinking.”

 

“Does it hurt?” the other girl asks with a chuckle. “You look like you’re in pain.”

 

“I was just thinking about something and – “ Santana shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“So, this place you hate to be …”

 

The artist glances at Lucy to find the girl’s eyes fixed on her. “Can you not look at me or something?”

 

“Why can’t I look at you?”

 

“Why do you need to?”

 

“Fine, give me your Darth Vader duck,” Lucy says as she holds out her hand.

 

“Duck Vader,” Santana corrects her friend as she hands it over. “And he’s not mine.”

 

“Sure he’s not.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes.

 

“I’m not looking at you,” the other girl points out to her friend. Her eyes are fixed on the duck as she pokes its little mask. “This is actually really cute …”

 

Santana allows herself to look at the girl sitting across from her in the tub. She can’t help the smile that starts to form as she watches Lucy intensely investigate the rubber duck in her hand. The girl turns it upside down, looks under the duck-bill of the mask, squeezes it to see if it squeaks (it doesn’t) – she’s very thorough, indeed. The concentration she sees on Lucy’s face is somewhere between amusing and adorable.

 

“If you’re allowed to look at me, then I should be allowed to look at you.”

 

Hazel eyes suddenly meet hers and Santana inhales sharply. “I wasn’t – I was just making sure you didn’t break him.”

 

“He’s made out of rubber,” the other girl says.

 

“Still.”

 

“I’m not going to break your duck.”

 

“He’s not mine.”

 

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Are you going to tell me what you’re upset about or are we going to talk about your – “ she stops and rolls her eyes again “-  _not your_ duck?” 

 

“I told you,” Santana says, sitting up and pulling the toy out of her friend’s hand. She sits back and fidgets with it. “I’m not good as this sort of thing. Maybe if I knew you were coming over, I could, I don’t know, draw you a cartoon or something but … “ The girl lets out a long sigh. “This kind of thing isn’t for me.”

 

“What, talking? Because we’ve spent the last few months talking … ”

 

“No.” Santana bites her bottom lip. “Apologizing, I guess.”

 

Lucy’s brows push together and she purses her lips. “Why would you need to apologize to me? I told you, I’m not angry about the email thing.”

 

The other girl’s eyes flit around, never once meeting her friend’s. “I can admit when I’m wrong but,” she stops and pushes her lips into a thin line. “I’ve never really had to do it like this.”

 

“In a bathtub?”

 

“In person.”

 

“Oh.” Lucy eyes the shower curtain. “Do you want me to …” she points at the vinyl piece.   
  
Santana doesn’t acknowledge her friend’s offer and, instead, says, “I’m not, you know, crazy or anything. Like, I know how to talk to people without hiding behind a computer. So, if you’re thinking that –“

 

“I’m not.”

 

“What are you thinking, then?”

 

“That I still don’t know why you’re apologizing.” Lucy reaches over and pulls the duck from her friend’s hands. “My turn.”   
  
Santana watches her give the toy a few experimental squeezes. “He doesn’t squeak.”

 

“I know, I figured that out.”

 

“Then why do you keep squeezing him?”

 

Lucy shrugs.  “Just because he doesn’t squeak doesn’t mean I don’t want him to.”

 

“You’re weird.”

 

“You chose to talk to me in a tub in your bathroom.”

 

“Again, the tub was supposed to be mine,” Santana comments. “I gave you the toilet.”

 

“Are you apologizing for offering me the worst seat in the house?”

 

“No,” her friend says, glad that Lucy is so focused on the bath toy. “Because I said some stuff – wrote some stuff – that wasn’t very nice.”

 

“I told you – “

 

“ – and it made you feel like I wouldn’t like you if I knew who you really are.”  

 

Lucy ponders her friend’s words as she balances the duck on her knee cap and presses its back with her finger. “So, you didn’t reply to my email, making me think you hated me,” she begins, “because you felt badly that I might think you wouldn’t like me anymore?” 

 

“Well when you explain it like that …” Santana says, frowning as she snatches the duck off of her friend’s knee.

 

“Hey! I wasn’t done.”   
  
The other girl holds the bath toy over her head. “My turn. And he doesn’t squeak, no matter how you press him.”

 

Lucy leans back and lets her head rest against the tile. “So, you don’t like the way I interpreted what you said?”

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” the other girl says. “I just meant that, when you say it like that, it makes me sound – dumb. And, in case you don’t know, it’s embarrassing to sound dumb.”

 

“It does not make you sound - ” Lucy starts to argue. “It makes you sound like you care what I think about you or …” She wrinkles her nose as she thinks aloud as she lifts her head and looks at her friend, “… or that you care what I think about how you think about me? Or about what I think about-”

 

“You’ve been talking to Tina too much.”   
  
“Hey!” a voice cries out from the other side of the door before being hushed.   
  
Brittany whispers, “I don’t wanna sleep in the car tonight!”

 

Santana simply rolls her eyes and holds the duck up in front of her face so that, when Lucy talks to her, it looks like she’s talking to the duck. “See why meeting people you know from the internet isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

 

“Hey!” two voices cry out.

 

“Away from the door!” Santana demands. Though her head is turned, she hasn’t lowered the bath toy. “And I didn’t meet you online, Brittany. Calm down.”

 

Lucy lifts her head and softly laughs. “Lower your weapon so we can talk.”

 

The other girl turns back to her friend, confused. When she sees Lucy eye the duck, she slowly lowers it. “So, does anything I’ve said count as an apology yet?”

 

“How much do you really dislike Quinn Fabray?” Lucy asks curiously. “Like, on a scale of one to –“

 

“Zero.”

 

Lucy frowns. “Wait.” She holds up her hand. “What is one?”

 

“One is,” the other girl presses her lips together as she thinks. “One is ‘I don’t dislike her at all.’ In fact, it’s more on the ‘she’s a little bit cool’ side of the spectrum.”

 

“But you said …”

 

“Look, I know what I said,” Santana interrupts. “I know, okay? I also wrote a scathing entry about splitting up Emma and Regina for so long but, you know, I wrote something else later about how much I’m still enjoying the show despite that fact.”

 

“So, you like Quinn Fabray despite the fact that she’s a talentless-“ 

“Hey, no!” the other girl points her finger at Lucy, stopping her from continuing. “I never said she was – “ she stops and shakes her head, “ _you_  were talentless. I said the opposite, remember? I said you were too good for comic book movies. If anything, I was being nice.”

 

“I recall a remark about spandex.”

 

Santana has the presence of mind to look ashamed. She glances down at the toy in her hands and says, “I can explain that.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“I want to,” she says quietly and looks up at Lucy through her lashes.  “You took that movie because you wanted to break out of historical dramas, right? Well, that’s not why it was offered to you. They just wanted to find some gorgeous girl to dress up in spandex, hook up to wires and fling around in front of a green screen.”

  
Lucy smiles softly. “And you don’t think I know that?”

 

“But there are so many girls who fit that type,” Santana argues. “And that’s  _all_  they do. They’re just eye candy.”

 

“Okay …”

 

The other girl sighs. “When you were interviewed for  _My Life Closed Twice_ , you said that you learned so much from your cast mates, those who had more experience than you. Did you even bother to watch the other interviews?”

 

Lucy bites her lip and shakes her head. “I didn’t watch my own, actually. I don’t like seeing myself on screen.”

 

“Well, your very talented and much revered supporting actress said that she had  _nothing_  to teach you,” Santana informs her. “You took risks, but smart risks. You played subtleties and she said that she often didn’t go to her trailer so she could watch your scenes even if she wasn’t in them. Does that sound like someone who’s eye candy to you?” 

 

“But you didn’t say any of that on your blog,” the other girl says after a long moment of silence.

 

Santana shrugs. “I was too busy with commissions and … talking to my new pal, Lucy.”

 

“We did talk a lot.” Lucy offers the girl a smile. “And this past week has kind of sucked not talking to you.”

 

“I  _am_  kinda cool to talk to.” Santana smirks and offers her friend Duck Vader.

 

“Kinda,” the other girl repeats, holding back a laugh. “When you’re not making fun of my alter ego …”

 

“Don’t you get Sybil on me when you’ve got my duck.”

 

“Your duck?”  Lucy’s brow quirks up.

 

Santana bites her lip at the wicked gleam in Lucy’s eyes. “A duck that’s in my bathroom.”  She corrects herself as she pouts and picks up her beer. “Shut up.”

 

On the other side of the door, Tina whispers, “They’re laughing. That’s good!” She looks over to find her friend’s mouth pulled into a deep frown. “What’s wrong? It sounds like Lutana could be back on …”

 

“That’s  _my_  duck.”  


	11. Chapter 11

_Dynamic Duo or Fab Four?_

_By Ivan Stokes_

_The cameras have stopped rolling but don't think that means the Teen Titans are breaking up. Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson and Hollywood's favorite might-be couple Sam Evans and Quinn Fabray have been seen tearing up Tinsel Town._

_The fearless foursome caught The Black Keys at the Roxy after sharing dinner at Café El. They split up for the ride, taking two cars to the venue, but as soon as the valets had their cars the Titans teamed up again._

_Could they be discussing rumors of a sequel? Or might a possible-couple be using group outings as a cover? Take a look at the pictures and judge for yourself._

"Did you ask her?" Brittany asks as she plops down on her friend's couch. She turns off her friend's tablet and sets it next to her.

"I did not."

"San," the girl whines.

"Britt," her friend says, "they aren't dating, okay?"

"But Ivan Stokes –"

"- makes his money making up stories about celebrities," Santana says resolutely. She pats her friend's hand and repeats, "They aren't dating."

Brittany stares at the television, watching while her friend scrolls through her DVR queue. She blinks a few times as  _Teen Wolf_  episodes disappear from the list. "Maybe Ivan meant Kurt and Blaine," the other girl says plainly.

"… meant Kurt and Blaine, what?"

"They could be the couple and maybe Sam and Lucy are their friend-beards or something." Brittany nods to herself. "I bet that's what he meant."

"That's not what he meant." Santana scoffs and is about to argue when she remembers something Lucy told her. Her eyes light up and she tilts her head as she considers it. " _Is_  it?" She grabs her phone and sends a quick text message.

: You said that folks were dating on set. Gay?

: Can't say. Sorry.  
: And hello.

: We're past the point of needing greetings.

: But, hi.

: And I thought you said no more secrets.

Santana smirks. That's the kind of ammo that's been helping her get the upper hand on Lucy ever since the Great Tub Truce of Twenty-Twelve [© and ™]. All she has to do is play up a little to the other girl's guilt and she gets what she wants: a peek at the photos Lucy took while on set, information about the girl's life before stardom …

: No more secrets that are mine. This is not mine.

: C'mon, I won't tell anyone. Well, maybe Brittany. But that would just be to put her mind at ease.

: About what?

: She thinks you're dating Sam.

: I told you that we're not.

: You told me. You haven't told anyone else.

: Thank our managers for that.

This bit of information does nothing to lessen Santana's disdain for her friend's manager. The guy just seems so clueless and, often times, misguided. Why he thought Lucy needed a stage name is still beyond her. And why he feels that the girl has to be photographed every second she's out of her house also escapes her.

Thanks to him, there has been no shortage of paparazzi photos posted online. She's seen her friend trying to ignore the cameras after a salon appointment with her stylist, pretending to look for something in her bag in an attempt to  _not_  have to give the photographers a fake smile after gassing up her car, and scowling deeply when the cameras surrounded her as she tried to make her way through them to get into a restaurant.

Santana decides to try a different tactic. Any discussion about Lucy's manager leads to the other girl defending him as being a good man who is just trying to do his job. And that leads to Santana apologizing for calling someone she's never met a greasy-haired douchebag or suggesting that he poke his butt-chin in someone else's business..

: Does Ivan Stokes know?

: Why?

: No reason. Just curious.

: Does he know?

: If I said he did, what would that mean?

: That Brittany's a genius disguised as a Disney princess.

Santana bites her lip and tries not to laugh when she catches sight of her friend using the remote to program the DVR to record  _Phineas and Ferb_. Because, sure, why not use up all of the space she just freed up for that?

: Okay, sure.

: Awesome. I'll tell her she was right about Kurt and Blaine.

It's unreal how quickly the cell phone in her hand starts ringing. Santana smirks and lets it ring a couple of extra times.

"Are you going to get that?" Brittany asks.

The other girl holds up her finger, rolls her eyes toward the ceiling and waits for one more ring. She slowly hits the answer button and very calmly says, "Hello?"

"You can't tell anyone. Seriously."

"I believe the correct response is 'hello' or – "

"We're beyond needing greetings, remember? And Santana, this is serious." Lucy's voice is low and calm in a way that makes Santana's stomach twist.

"I wouldn't out anyone and neither would Britts," the girl says defensively. "C'mon, you know me better than that, Lucy Q."

Brittany drops the remote on the couch and leans over Santana to shout into the phone. "Hi, Lucy! Thank you for not dating Sam!"

Santana rolls her eyes and leans away from her friend. "… Britt," she says as she laughs softly.

The other girl shrugs and sits back in her seat.

"Santana, are you listening to me?" Lucy asks. "I really need you to understand this. You cannot tell anyone. If word got out –"

"It won't," she promises. "Who am I going to tell?"

Lucy sighs heavily into the phone. "You have a very popular blog and all I'm asking is that you don't mention it or even allude to it. Seriously - no Robin and Kid Flash drawings. No jokes …" she pauses, "nothing."

"Fine," Santana purses her lips and rolls her eyes. "I told you. I'm not outing anyone. What's the big deal?"

"You kind of outed me," Brittany says distractedly as she flips through the channels looking for something to watch.

Lucy asks, "You outed Brittany?"

The other girl narrows her eyes in disbelief and shakes her head. "I did not out  _anyone_ ," she says. "And I'm not going to."

"You can't."

"I won't."

"Seriously."

"Really? You're serious? Because I couldn't tell by the number of times you've used the word 'seriously' in the past five minutes," Santana says with a huff.

Brittany stops flipping through the channels and watches with rapt attention as a woman, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, pours ingredients into a bowl and starts mixing it. It's possible that the woman is giving instructions to make whatever it is that she's making, but it doesn't matter because neither Santana nor her friend speak Vietnamese fluently.

"Lucy," Santana says softly before smirking. "Lampy, c'mon. Give me the benefit of the doubt."

"Never call me that again."

"What? It's a pet name."

"No,  _sweetie_  is a pet name," Lucy says. "Lampy is," she lets out a frustrated breath, "ridiculous."

The other girl's smile grows wider. "Okay," she replies. "I won't call you that anymore." She waits a beat and, trying not to laugh, she adds, "sweetie."

This moment becomes somewhat of an historical event. It is known throughout their circle of friends as the moment Santana called open season on pet names. It's soon the norm for her to get her friend's attention by calling her  _sweetie_  or some other variation on the word, such as  _sweetheart_ ,  _sweetie pie_  or  _sweets_.

Lucy, of course, chooses to fight sugar with sugar. Tina can hardly cover her insane giggles when she hears her friend tack on  _honey_  when speaking to her other friend. The first time Lucy said it, the room got deadly silent (something that has never happened in their chat room before). Santana narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw before simply responding as she would have had the girl used her given name.

None of their friends know what this game means, but each has his or her own theory.

Tina insists that "Lutana is on" at every opportunity – which is any time that Santana and Lucy are both away from the computer. She keeps a list of examples to back up her theory including: direct quotes said by each of the girls to each other, reflective analyses of dialogue or interactions and a running tally of how many times each girl has called the other by anything other than her name.

While Mike thinks that something  _might_  happen between the two girls, he hasn't volunteered to swab the decks of the _S.S. Lutana_  just yet. He argues that they are just really good friends who tease each other and that, if they were together, Santana would have said something. It's not like the girl is known for her tact or subtlety.

And, of course, there's Brittany who doesn't really have much to say other than, "As long as Lucy isn't dating Sam. They are my anti-p…"

Anti-p, of course, is the opposite of otp.

Eli hasn't been brought into the online fold – really, he doesn't have time to learn how to type nor does he have the patience to have a text-based conversation (which is almost as bad as watching a movie with subtitles) - but he does knows from what he's seen that something's up. Not just because of the pet names, though that, in itself, is suspicious. Ever since adopting her stage name, Quinn has made a point of using it – and making him use it.

But it's more than that.

The Quinn he knows – now Lucy, he supposes – didn't have friends. Well, no. She had friends but not friends like this. Not friends she actually spent time with, talked to and talked to him about.

He has to admit she still spends a lot of time online. Only now, it's not to research roles or discover clips of black and white movies, random animated shorts or student films to post on her blog. And now, when he sees a photo she's posted, it rarely her apartment he sees in the background.

That, itself, has become a running joke.

"Where's your roommate tonight?" Mike asks, making a show of trying to see behind Santana.

She rolls her eyes. "I don't know why you keep saying that. She's not here that often."

"Really?" Tina asks, her smile growing into a Cheshire grin. "I remember her being there last night, and the night before …"

"And the night before that," Mike says. "When you were trying to do that speed paint and she kept standing in your light because she wanted to watch, remember?"

Santana rolls her eyes again. "We're friends. We hang out. So what? Just …" she presses her lips together and frowns. "Just talk about something else now, okay?"

For the most part, Santana doesn't let these talks get out of hand. She learned her lesson after the first conversation ended with Tina exclaiming "Lutana is on!" and doing some kind of hybrid Time Warp-Macarena-Hand Jive dance.

"Okay," Brittany answers happily. "Hey, where's Lucy? Isn't she usually at your place, San?"

She opens her mouth to say something snarky but she's interrupted by an incoming message.

: Be there in ten. Did you eat dinner?

Santana shakes her head and sighs, knowing that her friends are going to have a field day with this.

: No. I'm feeling lazy.  
: In fact, use the hidey key. I'm not about to get up to let you in.

: Okay, twenty minutes.

: What happened to ten?

Tina starts giggling and it isn't long before Brittany joins in. Mike just sits back in his chair and watches his friend's face, an amused smile stretching across his own.

Santana looks up at her monitor to find three faces staring back at her. Her eyebrows arch and she tilts her head. "What?"

"Who ya' textin?" Tina asks, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling too big. "Lucy?"

"Maybe," the other girl answers slowly.

Tina's laugh sets off a chain reaction. Mike's shoulders hitch up and he smile toothily into the camera. Brittany, who has decided that popcorn is a decent replacement for a meal, alternates between giggling and chewing.

"What?" Santana huffs and crosses her arms, her phone still held tightly in her hand.

Her friend says, "You're pouting" just as Brittany chimes in with, "Aw, you're twitterpated!"

"I'm not weighing in. I value my manhood," Mike offers when the other girl's frown turns into a deep scowl.

"I'm not …" she sputters. "… either of those things." She jumps with her phone vibrates again. Before checking her message, she points to her web cam. "Not a word."

: Ten minutes was without food.

"So, what were we talking about?" Santana asks as she puts her phone on the desk. She gets a twinkle in her eye as she smirks and looks at Tina's video feed. "You talk to Mikey about the movie, yet?"

"What movie?" Mike's brows raise curiously. "No one told me about a movie."

Tina glares at her camera and everyone frowns. Two thirds of her friends are not really sure who the intended recipient is. Santana smirks and leans back in her seat. "Yeah, Teeny, what movie?"

Ever since her friend visited the Mercedes Jones show, she's been trying to figure out how to ask Mike to be her  _plus one._  If he lived in the area, she could make it sound like nothing major – two friends making the most of a special engagement. But he's not local. He's at least eight hours by car (not that she Google mapped it or anything) and airfare isn't exactly cheap. And it's not like Mike didn't just make a trip for the meet-up.

"You know how I won tickets to the Teen Titans premiere after our meet up?" she asks quickly.

Mike's eyes light up and he leans closer to his camera. He doesn't say anything but Santana can see the anticipation on his face. Mike saw the show when he got home – she gave him a heads up – and, whenever they talk without Tina, he asks if the other girl has mentioned who she's bringing.

"I won, too!" Brittany says. The way the girl's shoulders are moving, Santana assumes she is kicking her legs under her chair. "I'm going to bring Sam or maybe Santana. But probably Sam."

"Gee, thanks, Dizzy," Santana says mirthlessly and leans back in her chair again.

Mike tries to bring the conversation back to where he wants it. "So, why did you need to talk to me about that?"

Santana bites her lip in an effort not to smile.

"I was going to ask you to come with me, but – " Tina begins before Mike interrupts her.

"- I'd love to." He smiles widely and then his eyes widen. "I mean, if you're asking me. Which it now sounds like…" his smile melts away and his forehead wrinkles as his brows scrunch together, "… you're not."

The other girl smiles sweetly as she looks at Mike's image on her screen. "I can't ask you to spend that kind of money just to go to a movie with me."

"It's not just a movie and, anyway, I don't mind. I'm sure I can save a few bucks and stay with Santana, right San?" Mike asks, his eyes wide and hopeful.

Santana's enjoying the moment – one that's been too long in coming – and doesn't hear her front door open. "My couch is your cou-"

"Honey, I'm home!"

The other girl closes her eyes and presses her lips together at the interruption. When she cracks one eye open, all three of her friends are staring at her in amusement.

"It's a joke," Santana rolls her eyes and says. "She's just joking – it's …" She takes a deep breath, leans toward her computer screen and whispers harshly, "Shut up."

Lucy wastes no time making herself at home. She drapes her jacket over the back of Santana's couch. The girl learned quickly not to assume available space exists in the coat closet after an empty gaming console box fell on her. She tried to replace it and ended up falling over a pair of (under-used) roller blades and getting tangled in a Laser Tag vest that appeared out of thin air.

She drops the bag of food on the table and walks into the other girl's room. "I brought Thai," she announces. She can't help her grin when Santana smiles at her over her shoulder. Once she's behind her friend, she bends down almost close enough to rest her chin on her friend's shoulder. She looks into the camera and gives a little wave. "Hi guys. Just brought enough for two, sorry."

"Lucy!" Brittany shouts. "We were just talking about you!" Her smile is wide and infectious and Lucy finds her own smile growing at the sight of it.

"Good things, I hope," she replies not noticing how Santana is side-eyeing her nervously.

Brittany nods. "Very good. We were talking about how you're not dating Sam."

Lucy's brows furrow and she straightens her back and steps away from her friend, giving her a warning look. Santana shakes her head. "We were not. We were talking about Mike and Tina's date to your movie premiere."

Tina blushes and Mike smiles brightly when their friend uses the word  _date_. To take some of the heat out of her cheeks, Tina asks, "Who are you going with, Lucy?"

"Myself, I guess," the girl replies, her nose crinkling cutely. "The boys and I kind of made a deal that none of us would go with dates. We're all just going to go together." She forces a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It'll be fun."

Brittany sighs and, with a pout, says, "I guess I'm taking you, then, Santana."

"Well, geez, Dizzy, don't hurt yourself with all of that enthusiasm. You might sprain something." Santana rolls her eyes at her friend's grimace. "And maybe I don't want to go, anyway."

Lucy presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her head at her friend. The girl hadn't mentioned wanting to go but that didn't translate, in Lucy's mind at least, to the girl  _not_  wanting to go. "Are you going to eat in here?" she asks, deciding to change the topic.

"No, last time we tried eating without a table you got fortune cookie crumbs in the bed," the girl responds, shaking her head. "Confucius didn't tell me you needed a bib."

"Confucius didn't tell me I'd have to wrestle my cookie from a fortune thief." The other girl raises her brows, expecting a reply. When she doesn't receive one, she gives a curt nod, waves at the camera again and says a quick goodbye before squeezing her friend's shoulder. "I'll put the food out. Beer?"

Santana nods and watches the other girl leave the room. When she turns her attention back to her monitor, three faces look at her expectantly. "What?"

"Nothing." Tina's smirk relays the opposite message, though. After a beat, she enquires, "There was wrestling?"

Mike's eyes are wide when he adds, "There was a bed?"

"Uh uh - don't start." Santana holds up her index finger and gives them a warning look. "I'm not even messing with you right now."

Tina makes a quick motion with her finger across her lips. "Zipped," she says through clenched teeth. It doesn't keep her from shimmying in her seat.

Santana is quick to disconnect from chat. Tina getting on a roll now would only lead to her trying to continue it later. And later, she's hoping Lucy will still be around. Her stomach clenches at the thought of her best friend spouting her ridiculous shipping ideas in the presence of the other girl. It's one thing to tease her when she's alone but …

… she chooses not to think about it anymore and to stuff herself with Thai take-out, instead.

When she makes it into the living room, Lucy's already plated their food and set it out on the coffee table. All thoughts about being too lazy to eat are gone as she takes in the spread. "You plan to feed an army, sweets?"

"I couldn't remember if you liked the pork or chicken better," the other girl says. She's sitting on the floor with her legs stretched under the coffee table. "I got both. And you can always have leftovers."

Santana takes her place next to her friend and gives her a sideways glance. "Are you trying to fatten me up or something?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Lucy asks.

"I don't know. Prepping for the impending zombie apocalypse?"

The other girl shakes her head and laughs. "Right …"

"It's a great strategy, actually," Santana says, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and giving it some real thought. "Imagine how hungry a zombie'd have to be to eat through a family of thick folks to still wanna get a piece of you?"

The fork Lucy is holding stops midway to her mouth. She looks at the piece of chicken dangling from it, scowls and puts the fork down. "Thanks, Santana."

"What?"

"Am I supposed to be able to eat while you're talking about zombies eating people?"

"That's, like, chicken or pork or… " Santana squints at the other girl's plate. " … whatever. It's not Soylent Green or something."

"Soylent Green …"

"Yeah, you know," Santana shrugs as though going over something that should be common knowledge. She raises her brows, her eyes widening in mock horror as she throws her hands in the air dramatically. "Soylent Green is people!"

The giggles bubble out of the other girl though she tries not to let on that she's amused. "No, I get it. I've actually seen the movie."

"Yeah? As far as apocalypse type things go, not my favorite." Santana points to her friend's plate. "Chicken?" When Lucy nods, she grabs the abandoned fork. "It's fine for what it is," she says, "but I prefer zombies."

Lucy tilts her head, certain her friend isn't saying that she prefers zombies to chicken.

"You know, I like my apocalypses to be, like, run for your life and survival of the fittest," the girl explains. "Zombies are, by far, the best because you have to be more than strong or fast. You have to be smart."

"This is something you've thought about," the other girl comments knowingly.

"Well, yeah. Look," Santana stops talking long enough to swallow her mouthful. "You can't control most apocalypses, right? You can't outsmart a super virus or an asteroid smacking into the planet. But zombies? When it's us against them, we have the advantage because we can plan."

" _Stay alive_  is a good plan."

"Well, yeah," Santana agrees and then asks, "But how?"

Lucy picks up her bottled water, takes a sip and says, "Hole up in Costco until we run out of water or food."

"Costco? Please, you'd be dead within minutes of arrival." Santana shakes her head in disappointment. "I can barely make it out of there alive when they're handing out cheese samples and you want to head there when the masses are infected and looking for human happy meals?"

The other girl presses her lips together as she thinks about it. Her friend has a point about warehouse shopping and, really, who wants to get trapped in a huge, poorly lit building with nothing but overstocked shelves and zombies?

Santana chews another mouthful and points at the girl with her fork. "What you need is a low population area, a car with good gas mileage and few to no pre-existing mechanical issues … and arrows and a bow."

"Have you ever even shot an arrow?"

"Nope." Santana smirks, "But you're gonna wanna stick with me anyway, sweetheart. I can be the one with the plan and you can be the one who makes bad survival choices." She nudges her friend with her elbow and spears another forkful of her food.

"Why am I the one who makes bad choices?" Lucy asks defensively, her brows furrowing and her lips twisting down.

Santana looks into her friend's eyes, narrows her eyes and tilts her head as she says, "Costco?"

The blonde watches her friend take yet another piece of chicken and her shoulders start to shake as she laughs to herself. "You know you have the same thing on your plate," Lucy notes as she looks over at her friend's nearly untouched food.

Santana nods and continues to steal food from the dish in front of Lucy. "S'good," she says with a wink. "You should try it."

Lucy holds her hand out for the fork and smiles sweetly as her friend hands her the unused fork from her own plate. "Sorry," Santana mumbles around a mouthful of spicy chicken.

The other girl switches the two plates around, putting the full one in front of herself and giving her friend better access to the one she's already been using. As she moves the food around on her plate and tries to sound curious, but not overly so, and asks, "So, you're not interested in going to the premiere?"

"I dunno," Santana answers. "Don't get me wrong. I clean up nicely and all, but – " she doesn't finish her thought and simply raises her shoulders.

"But …"

"But Britts has her heart set on going with Sam and, really, how fun would that be for me? My whole night would be spent listening to her tell me that she'd prefer to be there with him. And," she points with her fork to her friend. "It's totally unfair that you and Sam have to go without dates when you know Kurt and Blaine are going. Together."

"They're our friends," Lucy explains. "Once Blaine's contract with his manager is up – " She stops and sighs. "Contrary to popular belief about my planning skills, we actually do have a plan."

"Maybe I'm not a great friend or something because I don't see how you being vague about Sam and not bringing a date to your own movie premiere is a win for you," the other girls comments, turning her eyes away from her friend and staring at her food, instead.

"I never said it's my favorite thing to do, but it  _is_  a good plan."

Santana side-eyes Lucy. "And what is this plan, exactly?"

"You don't want to know," the girl answers. "It will force you to change the way you think about someone. And I know you – once your mind is made up …"

"It depends who it is." Santana blinks a few times and then almost shyly asks. "You?"

Lucy shakes her head. "My manager."

"He's a douche."

"Santana …"

The girl frowns and points her fork at her friend. "He's having you followed by men with cameras and he's making it seem like you and Sam are a thing. It's manipulative."

"And I gave him permission," Lucy informs her. "He doesn't do these things without checking that I'm okay with it. Which makes me – and Sam – manipulative, too, I guess." She presses her lips together and raises her brows. "Did I expect so many cameras and so often? No. But I haven't complained because it's part of the plan."

"My question remains - what  _is_  this miraculous plan?" Santana frowns in annoyance.

Lucy purses her lips and looks at her friend. It's a look Santana has come to know very well.

"I won't tell anyone," she promises. It's starting to become second-nature to say those words when her friend gives her that look. "You should know that by now. I have a comic art blog, not a gossip blog."

"Blaine wants to come out but his manager won't let him," the other girl says softly. "He threatened to ruin his career." Lucy pokes her fork at her plate. "So, we make sure that when he goes out with Kurt, they're in a group. He's never photographed with Kurt alone because rumors spread fast and - " she exhales slowly. "Kurt isn't just  _out_  – he's the gay community's most eligible bachelor. People are very interested and if they assume that his hanging out with Blaine is more than just two cast mates having dinner …"

Santana puts her fork down. "His manager does what? Sends him bad scripts to audition for?"

"Sells stories to tabloids," Lucy corrects. "And he can twist scenarios or give them photoshopped pictures and no one would bat an eye because it's a tabloid and it's expected. Given that he's a paid rep, he has automatic credibility when it comes to anything he says about Blaine."

"So, Blaine does an interview with Mercedes Jones and tells the truth and says his manager is evil," Santana suggests simply. "It doesn't have to be that complicated."

Lucy is quiet for a few minutes as she rearranges the piles of food she's made. "Complicated is what we're avoiding," she says. "It's easier to avoid a mess than it is to clean it up," she adds sagely.

"Which you know from experience?"

"Luckily, no. I have a manager who I trust to not let me make too many stupid mistakes and who, I know, supports me," the girl answers. "And for the record," she says, raising her brows as she looks at Santana, "he didn't like the no-date deal, either."

"If you tell me he wants to date you …"

Lucy wrinkles her nose as she swats at her friend's arm. "Oh, Santana! No! He's …" she shakes her head as she laughs. "He's like my dad or an uncle or ... something. And he's definitely not my type."

"You could be  _his_  type."

"He's married."

"So? Unless he's married to a man, your rationale is irrelevant."

Lucy rolls her eyes. "He's a better person than you think he is."

Santana scoffs. "Sure he is. He's helping Blaine out of the goodness of his heart," she says as she bats her eyes and places her hands over her heart. She blinks a few times, her expression shifting to a more serious, sober one as she looks into her friend's eyes. "Not because he's going to get a new client out of this plan of yours. That's the deal right? Blaine leaves  _his_  d-bag and signs with  _yours_."

The other girl rolls her eyes again.

"What? Are you going to tell me he's not in it for that?" Santana challenges. She bends her legs under the table as she shifts to face her friend more fully. "He gets Blaine, the Boy Wonder. He's going to play nice now and there's nothing to stop him from changing his tune later."

Lucy shakes her head. "He's not like that."

"Not with you, no. You play the game, right? Like he wants you to? Pretend to be Sam's date, photo op with organic veggies at Whole Foods …You do what he says like a good little puppy and he keeps the treats comin', right?" Santana's voice softens when she sees her friend's eyes narrow with hurt. "I didn't mean it like that."

Lucy folds her hands in her lap. "You don't know what you're talking about, Santana." She looks up into the other girl's eyes, her voice dangerously calm. "So, maybe you should stop talking."

The other girl frowns and gives herself a moment to calm down. "I didn't mean that you – "

"- I know what you meant, Santana," Lucy says coldly as she slides her legs out from under the coffee table and stands up. "I know it's hard to believe, me being a useless pawn in my own life and all, but I was able to figure it out."

Santana's eyes widen and she struggles to untangle herself from the low table. "You know I didn't mean it like that. But you have to admit that these guys – these managers and agents – get too much control over their clients' personal lives. Case in point? Blaine."

"My manager didn't come up with the plan, Santana," Lucy says, her back straightening as she takes a step closer. "Sam and I did. We took a story that Will was going to squash and turned it into something else because we saw what it was doing to Blaine."

The other girl frowns in confusion.

"He was paranoid - all the time, especially when he was out with Kurt, and," she sighs and shakes her head as she explains, "being closeted must be really hard. But imagine being closeted and threatened about it constantly." Lucy says, her eyes soft as she thinks about her friend's situation.

"So, Sam and I decided there are worse things in life than people thinking that we find each other even remotely attractive." She picks up her jacket and slings it over her arm. "We went to our managers and pitched the mystery relationship idea. I told Will the situation and suggested that we just let the press think what they want to think. He was onboard until the whole no-date thing because, as his client, I'm his top priority and he was trying to get me to – " she stops and shakes her head. "He agreed to the idea and came up with the details because  _I_ asked him to and because he doesn't believe that careers can't survive an outing."

Santana looks down at her feet, her hands clasped behind her back and her voice soft, as she says, "I'm not trying to make you angry, okay? I just – I don't think it's fair, that's all."

"But it's fair to assume that I would relinquish control over my personal life in exchange for a few good scripts? That'd I'd sell myself to a cut-throat just to get a job?" The other girl shakes her head. "Even if you don't think better of my manager, I'd hope you'd think better of me." She tightens her arm around her jacket and heads for the door.

"Lucy …"

"Not that I think it will mean a whole lot," the girls says as she reaches for the door handle. "But when Will said he wanted to represent me, I asked him about this - specifically." She purses her lips together and looks into her friend's eyes. "Not only did he  _not_  change his tune, but he reminded me of his answer when I told him about not bringing a date to the premiere."

Santana's brows furrow. "Why does he care if you take a date?"

"He thinks it'll make me more approachable or open or - " she shakes her head and looks down. "Or something. I guess my  _sparkling_  personality doesn't come through in interviews as well as my cast mates' do." She shrugs and adds, "I'm too serious and he said someone tweeted that I was cold and impersonal."

"That's bullshit. You're awesome."

Lucy bites her bottom lip and looks up through her lashes. "Which is why he was disappointed that I made this particular concession." She lets out a slow breath as she opens the door. Her eyes search Santana's before she offers the girl a timid smile and says, "He really wanted to meet you."

The front door clicks closed in the time it takes Santana to blink. She swallows roughly, her eyes trained on the door. But it doesn't open and Lucy doesn't come back to explain the connection between  _my manager wants me to date_  and  _he wants to meet you_.

What she puts together for herself creates a twisting in her stomach and a fluttering in her chest in the best possible way. Her feet feel heavy when she finally uproots them from the floor and grabs her phone from the table that holds their now abandoned meal.

"Hey," she says before Tina can get a chance to greet her. "Thought you'd like to know - Lutana? That shit's about to be on."


	12. Chapter 12

“Aun’tana!”

 

Santana almost loses her balance when her nephew launches himself into her arms.  She’d been watching the escalator by baggage claim for a good fifteen minutes before spotting her brother. As he reaches the end of the moving stair case, she drops to her knee, a bright smile on her face when she spies her nephew pulling his little blue suitcase.

 

“Hey, Supes!” She hugs him tightly before gently pushing him back, holding his shoulders and looking him up and down. “Lookit you, kiddo! You’ve grown, like, seventeen feet! What were they feeding you in Indiana?”  
  
Sal puffs up his chest. “Mac and cheese!”

 

“Tell your aunt what you asked the doctor before we left,” Ric prompts his son. He tenderly places his hand on Sal’s beanie-covered head.   
  
“… if I’m gonna have super powers because of the radiation,” the little boy says.

 

“I blame you.” Her brother gives her a tired smile.

 

“Well, let’s see,” Santana says as she spins and points to her back. “Climb on and let’s see if any Spidey-powers have been activated.”  It takes a moment but Sal situations himself on his aunt’s back and, with Ric’s help, she’s able to stand up. She whispers, “You weigh a ton. Maybe you got Superman’s powers, instead.”

 

 “Thanks for meeting us.” Ric picks up his son’s rolling bag and starts walking. “We weren’t expecting Sal’s request to be answered so quickly.”  
  
Santana simply nods. “The movie’s coming out, so …” She tries to shrug but, with her nephew hanging on her, she can’t seem to manage. “It’s good marketing.”   
  
Her brother frowns. “It’s more than marketing, San,” he says. “If it was just that they’d have the kids come for the movie, take a bunch of pictures and send them on their way. This is gonna be a full day thing.”   
  
“It’s gonna be amazing and incredible and …” Sal pats the top of Santana’s head. “Spectacular!”

 

She smirks. Ric elbows her and asks, “Can you guess who’s been reading the comics you sent? Those are his three favorite words, thanks to you –“   
  
“- and Spider-Man. He’s amazing and incredible and spectacular!” Sal voice grows as he points into the sky from his perch on Santana’s back.

 

An older man pushing a luggage cart smiles fondly at the boy’s enthusiasm.

 

“Gotta say, little brother,” Santana says. “I wasn’t expecting this much energy. Everything’s good?”

 

Ric nods, a relieved look crossing his face. “It’s not over but we’re a lot closer than we were before.”

 

“Aun’tana, are you coming with me and Daddy today?” The little boy rests the side of his head against Santana’s and hugs her around the neck. “Please?” 

 

“Can’t, buddy,” she informs him, pushing her head against his. “But I’ll see you later tonight and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

 

Santana doesn’t have to wait long to hear about it from the boy. He’s so excited about the day the Dream Makers Foundation has planned for him that he’s telling her stories before he’s even experienced it.

 

He tells her about how he’s going to race Kid Flash (and win). He complains that his Daddy didn’t pack a swimsuit so he won’t be able to show Aqua Lad how to blow bubbles under water. But he’s been practicing in the tub, just in case they have time to stop and pick one up.

 

Mostly, though, it’s Robin he’s excited about. Sal’s come up with a very intricate secret handshake, one that he won’t even show to his dad – or his favorite (and only) aunt – because it’s meant only for Boy Wonders. Santana bites her tongue to keep herself from informing the boy that _she’s_ the one who started calling him Boy Wonder in the first place.

 

And, as much as she would like to be with him during his big adventure, Santana’s got plans of her own. Tonight is the big coup she’s been working toward. She hasn’t been letting any grass grow under her feet when it comes to getting back into Lucy’s good graces – all baby steps, of course. 

 

She’s texted, emailed and called Lucy frequently but not enough for the girl to take out a restraining order against her (not that Santana thinks she would).  Her intent each time, of course, was to apologize.

 

She meant to explain that she spoke out of turn and shouldn’t have said anything without all of the information. She planned to say that she’s protective of her friends – especially the ones she cares about the most.

 

Santana meant to say a lot of things.

 

“I’m sorry,” she ends up saying on her umpteenth attempt, “ … we didn’t get to finish dinner. Thai food kind of smells rank when it’s left out too long.” She winces and grimaces at herself.

 

She’s standing outside of a Starbucks with a cup of coffee in each hand and her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder. A man exits the coffee shop and does a double-take, not sure by the look on her face if she needs help.

 

Santana looks him up and down and then gives him a glare that suggests he mind his own business. 

 

It’s quiet for a moment on the other end of the line. Santana can make out a tiny sigh before she hears Lucy’s voice. “I imagine it does.”

 

“So …”

 

“Do you need something, Santana?” Lucy’s voice is soft.

 

“I –“ she sighs. “Okay, remember what I told you in the bathtub?”

 

Though he picked up on the glare, the stranger’s eyes widen in interest at the girl’s question. Because really, a pretty girl talking about taking a bath with someone? Kind of hard to ignore.

 

Santana rolls her eyes and her mouth twists in disgust.  “About apologizing and how I’m not good at it …”

 

“Do you even know why you’re apologizing?” Lucy asks.

 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she begins.

 

There’s another sigh. “That’s nice, Santana. But I don’t need an apology for that.”

 

“I wasn’t done.”

 

“You kind of are,” Lucy informs her. “I have plans and then a premiere to attend tonight.”

 

“Just a couple of minutes? Please, Luce?” Santana’s voice is teasing when she adds, “Lampy?”

 

“No,” the other girl says firmly. “You’re sorry and I get that. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

 

“Promise.”

 

“Santana …”

 

“All you have to do is say that you promise we’ll talk about it later,” Santana says. “Then I’ll let you go and I won’t even so much as text you.”

 

Lucy’s voice shakes a little and Santana can’t tell if she’s trying not to laugh or … or what. “I promise. When there’s something to discuss, we’ll discuss it. Until then, I really have to go.”

 

“Break a leg, Lucille.”

 

Lucy can’t help the chuckle that breaks from her throat. “Thanks.”

 

The call is disconnected before Santana can say anything else. She not even sure what she would say if she’d had the chance, anyway.

 

“What?” Santana’s voice is hard when she realizes that she’s still being looked at. She rolls her eyes when he tries to win her over with a smile. “Unless you’re a gay woman in a troll disguise, you don’t even stand a chance. So,” she waves one of the coffee cups at him. “Thanks for perving but move along.” 

 

As she watches the man walk away, she sees a familiar face approaching and holds up the same coffee cup she just used to dismiss her would-(not)be suitor. “It’s the man himself!”

 

He performs a perfectly dramatic low-bow and, with a calm voice, says, “My captain.” When he rights himself, he takes the cup with _Eli_ scrawled on it. After giving Santana a quick once-over, he asks, “Your place or mine?”

 

Santana finds herself sitting in front of a large vanity, the kind she’s only seen in movies. Her hair has been released from her usual high pony and her glasses are – she squints and looks around – she thinks they’re next to what looks to her to be a million tubes of lip gloss.

 

“You know,” Eli begins, “Quinn told me you were even prettier in person. She’s not wrong.”  He’s dabbing a brush against his forearm, testing colors. Every so often he holds his arm up to Santana’s cheek and makes a soft humming sound as if he’s contemplating one of life’s most serious questions.  

 

“She talks about me?”

 

Eli laughs. “Like you don’t know you’re her favorite topic,” he teases. He turns and grabs a tube of foundation from the table, completely missing the baffled look on Santana’s face. “I thought she was exaggerating, but – and I’d never admit this to her - “ he smirks. “She was right.”

 

Santana smile wryly. “She usually is, isn’t she?”

 

“You’re a quick study.” He leans against the vanity and mixes some foundation on a tiny palette. “But don’t let her fool you,” Eli says. “Quinn can be wrong just as often as she can be right.”

 

She shrugs. “So far, her track record of being right puts mine to shame.”

 

Eli brushes off her statement with a _psh_.

 

“So,” Santana tries to sound aloof, pretending that her attention is on the tube of mascara she’s twirling in her fingers, when she asks, “What does she say about me?”

 

“You think you know everything,” her friend replies evenly, dabbing his middle finger into the foundation before tapping it onto her cheek. “And you’re the single most infuriating person she’s ever met.”

 

“… oh …”

 

“At the same time you’re also the single most charming person she’s ever met,” he adds. “You know,” he says, leaning back and popping a hand on his hip as he side-eyes the ceiling thoughtfully, “Quinn usually writes people off pretty quickly. Yet …”  Eli ends his sentence by looking into Santana’s eyes, pressing his lips together and raising his brows.

 

“You know her really well, don’t you?”

 

“I’ve known her since before she was Quinn,” he says simply. “When she was the Original Lucy.” He winks. “Before Lucy 2.0.”

 

“How’s my Lucy different?”   
  
Eli smirks at her choice of words but chooses to answer the question instead of commenting on it. “ _Your_ Lucy is confident and stands up for what she wants - for what she thinks is right. The old Lucy?” he pauses as he thinks. “The old Lucy would have walked away when she thought you were mad at her. Like she was accepting punishment for doing something wrong, even if she didn’t do it on purpose or did it with the best intentions. She always seemed to believe she deserved what she got …”

 

Santana lets that information settle and tries to imagine Lucy the way that Eli describes her.  It’s not as difficult as she thinks to reconcile the two.

 

She closes her eyes and lets Eli do his thing. He gives her the final say on where he wants to go with her make-up (yes, smokey eyes; no, fake lashes) but absolutely denies her any input on her hair.   
  
“You wear it in a ponytail every day,” he accuses her. “You’ve forfeited your right to vote.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing my hair up.” Santana frowns. “And how would you even know that?”

 

Eli doesn’t even entertain the girl’s questions and simply stares at her.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Anyway, when you have hair like this,” he says as he sifts the strands over his fingers, “you should show it off a bit more. So, tonight?” He steps back and puts his hands up in front of him. “Curls.”

 

The color drains from Santana’s face. She’s not sure why, but she’s picturing that Jheri Curl guy from _Coming to America_. “What kind of curls?”

 

“Pretty curls,” he offers. His eyes light up and he practically hops in place before he says, “And I find your lack of faith disturbing.”  

 

Santana’s brows arch up toward her hairline and she looks the man up and down. “Did you just Vader me?”

 

Eli nods proudly and she can’t help but laugh. “I’ve been waiting all day to say it! Now, just sit back and show a little trust, captain.” 

 

“Just keep calling me that and we’ll be fine.”

 

Eli laughs, twisting sections of her hair in his fingers. “When I’m done with you, honey, I think you’ll agree that fine is the basement and you’re living in the penthouse.”

 

To quote her new friend, Eli’s _not wrong._

 

Santana stares at herself in the mirror and whispers. “I just stepped into a John Hughes movie, didn’t I …”

 

Eli pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’ll be the Annie Potts to your Molly Ringwald, any day.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Santana catches sight of the clock on the table. “I have to get out of here, huh?”

  
“You can stay if you want to ruin the surprise,” he offers. “I wouldn’t mind.” He stage whispers, “I’d like to see it for myself, actually.”

 

Santana shakes her head. “Nope. Gotta stick to the plan,” she reminds him. “Not a word, okay?”

 

Eli promises but that doesn’t mean she’s not a little worried that he’ll slip and say something. Even an errant _Santana said …_ would give away more than she prefers. Knowing that Santana spent a few hours getting fixed up by her friend would set some sort of expectation – maybe set off some red flag that Santana’s actually _trying_ a little more than she has been known to try in the past.

 

So, when she’s standing, arm linked with Brittany’s, and watching the limos lined up in front of the El Capitan Theater, she can’t help her nervous excitement.  Every few minutes, she glares at the mass of photographers. Their flashes make her blink and, if she misses Lucy’s expression when she sees Santana, she’s going to be pissed.

 

Metal bleachers are set up across the street for fans and whenever a car door opens, the crowd shouts and waves their signs. Their cheers die down only a little when minor cast members appear and begin their red carpet walks. They’ve been shouting for over half an hour, so Santana’s a bit surprised at the amount of enthusiasm they show when Sam Evans steps out of a limo.

 

He smiles winningly at crowd and breaks free from his line-up to do a walk-by. Brittany’s eyes don’t leave him as he shakes his fans’ hands, signs a few photos and pauses ever so slightly to push his face into the frame of someone’s camera phone.

 

Before he can make it back to the red carpet, Kurt appears. He waves royally at the fans in the stands but doesn’t leave the line-up right away. When Blaine steps out of the next car, Kurt pretends to consider greeting the fans. He’s smiling brightly as he waves Blaine over and the two of them catch Sam, who is trying to get back in line, and pull him back over to the stands.

 

No one seems to notice Sal and Ric make their way toward Santana and Brittany. Though the girls had walked the red carpet earlier, they only stopped once for photos – and that was for a studio-hired photographer. Santana suspects she’ll be given the opportunity to buy a photo for $29.95 or something like that.  

 

Mike and Tina have already decided that they’ll each be purchasing the photo. Santana has noticed that, along with professing a desire to purchase souvenirs, they haven’t let go of each other’s hands since they stepped out of the car.

 

“Aun’tana!” the little boy shouts with excitement.  He’s ditched his jeans and tennis shoes and has traded them in for suit pants, a button up shirt and a skinny tie. His beanie is still firmly covering his head. “Wow!” Sal’s eyes grow round. “You look like a grown up!”

 

Santana bends as best as she can in her dress and whispers, “Shh. Secret identity.” When she straightens, she winks at him and he does his best to wink back. Mostly it just looks like he’s got something stuck in his eye.

 

The cheering seems to reach its highest and the upsurge of the commotion pulls everyone’s attention to the final car and to the blonde woman who steps out of it. While Quinn is waving to the crowd in the stands, her manger leans close and whispers in her ear. She smiles softly and nods as she tries to ignore the blur of flashing lights that line the path to where her cast mates are standing.

 

Santana blows out a long breath. The woman sandwiched between Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, the one to whom fans push photos for autographs, the one offering complete strangers a much-practiced smile – that’s Lucy. Well, it’s Quinn Fabray. But, it’s also Lucy - in all of her silvery-blue gowned glory.

 

The fans don’t get much time with the full cast before security comes out to whisk the team back to the red carpet for requisite pre-screening photos and interviews. The team is ushered to their marks and Santana has to strain to see over the tall men who block her view of her friend – and her friend’s friends.

 

“Liliana Wright, Showiz Report, here with Quinn Fabray. That was quite a reception you received,” the woman begins as Quinn steps in front of her. “Were you expecting that from the fans?”

 

Before she can answer, Sam leaves his mark, pops his head into the camera frame and shouts, “Yes!” His happy exclamation overshadows his friend’s soft word of denial.

 

“No …” she says again, correcting him and giving him a gentle with her shoulder. “It was a nice surprise.”

 

“What’s surprising about it for you?” Liliana asks.

 

Quinn bites her lip and answers honestly, “My cast mates have well established fan bases and all well-deserved …” she wrinkles her nose. “I just really wasn’t expecting it.”

 

“But she should have because she’s amazing,” Sam says. “I know you haven’t seen the movie yet,” he winks at the woman with the microphone, “so just take my word on it for now.”  

 

Liliana gives Sam a knowing smile. “And this is your _objective_ opinion?”

 

He doesn’t say anything but he waggles his eyebrow at the camera, a tiny smirk on his face.

 

“More like objectionable,” Quinn says, playfully pushing Sam away and toward his mark.

 

Santana strains to see where her friend is in the line. She shuffles from foot to foot as she tries to figure out how many interviews the girl will have to give before she makes it close enough to have a real chance of seeing her.

 

“Aun’tana! Did I tell you that Robin and I flew using a cable today? We didn’t get to shoot it for real, but I bet it was there from when Robin used it to save someone before,” Sal says, pulling her attention from the line of celebrities. “Daddy has a picture on his phone!”

 

“Yeah?” She smiles at the boy and rests her palms on his shoulders. “You’re almost a superhero, kiddo.”

 

“I didn’t get to save anyone but when I’m bigger …” the little boy continues, not realizing that his aunt’s focus has once again shifted.

 

Santana bites her lip at the sight of Kurt and Blaine being interviewed together. She’s pretty sure that’s not part of the plan. Her suspicions are confirmed when Sam pushes himself between the two, an arm around each of them, and starts spouting lots of _bro_ s and _dude_ s while giving his most charming smile to the camera. 

 

She hazards a look over to Quinn. Once again on her own, she seems to be handling her interviews well. But even from where Santana is standing, she can see the spark that was there when Sam was with her is be missing. She’s standing straighter, giving her most polite smile – and quite obviously, not enjoying herself. If anything, she looks ready to move on to the next interview.

 

“Hey,” Santana whispers, bending her knees a bit so that she’s closer to the boy’s ear. “You have fun with Quinn today?”

 

He looks up, nodding wildly. “She’s really nice. Just like you said!”

 

“Well,” she takes another quick look at Quinn and then leans even closer to whisper in his ear. When she leans back, she winks. “Got it?”

 

Sal nods vigorously.

 

Santana rights herself and, just before releasing her hands from his shoulders, whispers, “Go on, Supes …”

 

The boy takes off. “Hi, Titan friends!” he says loudly as he races behind Kurt, Sam and Blaine. All three look away from their camera and wave as he passes. Blaine smiles brightly, “That’s Sal, one of the kids we met today …”   
  
Quinn’s midsentence in her interview when she’s interrupted by an impromptu hug that almost knocks her off her feet. She steadies herself and reaches one arm around the boy to steady him, too.

 

“Sal?” she asks, looking down at a beanied head. 

 

“Hi, Quinn! You look really pretty,” the boy says, completely ignoring the man with the microphone.

 

She smiles sweetly at him and shifts her hand to his shoulder. “I almost didn’t recognize you all dressed up like that.”  Quinn looks to the interviewer and says, “This is my friend, Sal. He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

 

“Very cute,” the man agrees. “Great tie!”

 

“Hey! You’re Matt Rutherford from inside the TV!”

 

“Insider TV,” Matt gently corrects. “So, how do you know Quinn, Sal?”

 

“I wrote a letter to the Dream Makers and they made it so that I could hang out with her and the other Titans,” Sal says quickly.

 

“The Dream Makers?” the man asks, shifting his gaze to Quinn.

 

She smiles and rubs her hand over the boy’s shoulder. “It’s a foundation that helps kids like Sal do something they dream of doing. And this guy,” she says with a little laugh, “asked to be a superhero and join the Titans team.”

 

“I threw a Birdarang today! And Robin was gonna be my favorite because, you know, he’s Robin,” Sal says excitedly. “But Quinn’s really my favorite because she’s super nice and she knows all about superheroes and she gives really nice hugs.”

 

Quinn’s cheeks heat up and she bites her lip as the boy talks.

 

“I was thinking about maybe marrying her but then I remembered that I want to marry my friend Madison and I already told her I would,” he looks directly into the camera and waves, “Hi, Madison!”  He turns back to Matt and explains, “Madison’s mom made some really good cookies just for me and she always lets Madison come over to play even when it’s a school night. But if I don’t marry her, I‘ll probably marry Quinn.”

 

“So, Quinn’s your favorite, then?” Matt double-checks, smiling fondly at the boy.

 

“Yeah. My auntie,” he stops and points to where his dad and the others are waiting, “told me that she’s really cool. I thought it was just because Quinn’s her celebrity crush –“

 

Quinn’s stomach tightens and she squeezes the little boy’s shoulder, the rest of this sentence completely lost to her.  She bites her lip and forces herself not to look in the direction where the boy is pointing.

 

“Well, your aunt is out of luck,” Matt says, smirking at Quinn. “Rumor has it that Ms. Fabray already has someone in mind for her romantic lead. Isn’t that right, Quinn?”

 

“You’re right,” she answers with a grin. “That _is_ the rumor.” Quinn may not have much experience with being at the center of the rumor mill, but she knows how to sidestep a trap. If this guy thinks he’s getting an exclusive or breaking any kind of story about her supposed relationship with Sam, then he’s completely mistaken.

 

“And your response to the rumor?” Matt tries again.

 

Quinn simply shakes her head, raises her brows and smiles sweetly. “You get points for persistence, Matt.”

 

“No comment, then?” he checks again and gives her his most winning smile.

 

“Doesn’t _everyone_ have _someone_ in mind?” Quinn asks, grateful that she’s being waved on to her next mark. “Thanks, Matt,” she says as she steps away.

 

“Will you sit next to me in the movie, Quinn?” Sal asks, taking her hand and letting her lead him the few steps between Matt Rutherford and Unique Adams, Mercedes Jones’s red carpet representative.   
  
“Well, I didn’t bring a date tonight …” she teases, quirking her brow at the boy.

 

Unique whistles appreciatively as Quinn steps onto her mark. “Quinn Fabray, you look stunning!”

 

“Thank you, Unique.” Quinn giggles and reaches out to touch the woman’s arm. “You look pretty fabulous yourself.”

 

“I do, right?” She tosses her hair and winks at Quinn. “Now, you have to introduce me to this handsome man on your arm.” She squints at Sal and asks, “You tryin’ to steal her away from Sam, Shorty?”  

 

“Sam?” Sal asks, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He looks up at Quinn in confusion. “I thought Sam was your brother.”  

 

Unique laughs and points to the boy. “Oh, I like him! You keep him around, Quinn.”

 

“Will do,” she replies, winking at Sal.

 

“Now, tell me …” Unique begins. “… the last time you were on Mercedes’s show, you and an audience member won a competition based on comic book knowledge. Did you know you’d be playing that game? Have time to prepare?”

 

Quinn shakes her head. “No, no. I had no idea and, honestly, I was as surprised as everyone else that we won.”

 

“Brittany won, too!” Sal points out. “Remember?”

 

Unique nods her head. “And both she and the other winner, Tina Cohen-Chang, have already come through.” She leans forward and stage whispers, “They were looking like movie stars themselves and they had fine lookin’ dates, too!”

 

Quinn pulls her lower lip between her teeth and lets herself look ahead to where people who aren’t giving interviews are waiting. She spots Tina leaning into Mike and pointing at the giant movie poster billboard. The grins on both of their faces bring a smile to Quinn’s face.

 

Next to them is Brittany. Quinn squints and looks over her shoulder trying to see if she’s the recipient of such a large wave and an even larger smile. When she catches sight of Sam - winking no less - she feels a little like the monkey in the middle. At least she didn’t embarrass herself by waving back.

 

“That’s my Aun’tana!” Sal says, pointing to Santana. He looks up at Unique and says, “But she isn’t Brittany’s date. She’s just her best friend.” He quickly adds, “They don’t kiss or anything.” His mouth turns down into a disgusted grimace. “Ick.”

 

Quinn’s smile falters slightly when she finally sees Santana. She blinks a few times; she’s sure she isn’t seeing what she thinks she’s seeing. Gone is the familiar high pony tail she has come to expect. Instead, Santana’s hair falls in soft curls over her shoulders.

 

Her bare shoulders.

 

Almost as though she can feel someone looking at her, Santana’s looks over and for a brief moment her eyes meet Quinn’s. She can’t help the smirk that pulls at her lips when Quinn breaks eye contact and gives her a long, appraising look.

  
Santana has no idea what Quinn expected. Did she think she’d show up in her _Planet of the Snapes_ t-shirt and a pair of jeans? Or maybe she thought Santana’s idea of dressing up would be throwing a blazer over her _Buffy Lives_ shirt.

 

She feels very confident in thinking that Quinn wasn’t expecting dark red, strapless or the words cocktail and dress together. Judging by the look on the girl’s face, Santana also feels confident that her makeover isn’t going unappreciated.

 

“Quinn?” Unique asks, laughter in her voice.

 

She turns her attention quickly back to the woman and gives her a somewhat embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I was,” she falters for a moment, “looking for one of my friends.” She bites her lip. “Found her,” she says lamely.

 

“It’s okay. I thought you were using it as an avoidance tactic. I heard you dodging questions about Sam Evans. Don’t think I wasn’t paying attention,” Unique says. “Don’t try none of that with me. I’m bigger and fiercer.” She points to Sal, “Right, my man?”

 

“Aun’tana says you should never tell a girl that she’s big,” he says solemnly. “She says it’s usually a trick.”

 

“Your auntie’s smart. So, Quinn,” Unique tries again, “ _If_ the rumors about you and Sam aren’t true, would you ever consider dating a fan?”

 

Quinn blinks a few times and licks her lips.  “A fan?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Right,” Quinn laughs and then she echoes, “Why not?”  

 

Before Unique can get to her Sam questions, a member of the security team comes over to usher Quinn inside.

 

“Do I get to sit with you?” Sal asks, still holding tightly to Quinn’s hand.   
  
“Let’s get everyone together,” Quinn suggests. “See where we all want to sit, okay?”   
  
“I want to sit with you and Aun’tana. And Daddy. And Brittany, too.”  The boy tries to pull Quinn toward his family but she has security on the other side urging her in another direction.

 

She touches the security man’s shoulder and whispers, “Just a second, okay? I’ll be right there.” Quinn waits for him to nod, though she’s sure he wouldn’t tackle her if she walked away of her own volition. “C’mon,” she says as she leads Sal over to his family.

 

“Quinn!” Brittany calls out. “Hi!”

 

“Hey, Britt,” she says. She smiles at Ric and casually mentions, “So, I ran into someone on the red carpet …”   
  
Sal swings their joined hands and announces, “Actually, I ran into her. It’s hard to slow down in these shoes!”

 

“… well, that someone seems more than a little concerned about seating. So, do you guys want to come with me? We can all go in together and figure out who is seating next to who when we get inside.”

 

“All of us?” Santana asks.

 

Quinn bites her lip and nods. She turns her attention Ric for a moment and, pointing to the security man waiting for her, says, “Follow him. We’ll be right behind you.” She takes a step backward so that she’s next to Santana and watches her friends file into the theater.

 

“So… ” Santana asks as they start walking in.

 

“So?“

 

Sal looks up at the two women and rolls his eyes. He pulls on Quinn’s hand and whispers, “You’re supposed to tell her that she looks beautiful. Don’t you watch movies, Quinn?”

 

Quinn presses her lips together and tries not to laugh. She clears her throat and, as seriously as she can, whispers, “You look beautiful, Santana.”

 

“Surprised?” Santana’s got that smirk again.

 

“Not at all.”  


	13. Chapter 13

_“… we’ll have more from the Teen Titans premiere and after party. Don’t go away.”_

Tina leans into Mike as she points to the television screen. “Can you believe we were there?” 

 

He replies by simply tightening his arm around her.

 

“Less than a week ago, we were at a movie premiere,” she continues dreamily. “And then we went to a party. With movie stars.”

 

“Mhm.” Mike kisses the side of Tina’s head. 

 

She wiggles out of his hold and shifts to face him on the couch. “You’re glad you came, right?” She looks into his eyes. “You had a good time?”

 

“I didn’t come all the way down here for a movie, Tina,” he answers, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Blah blah blah.” Santana shuffles into the living room, her arms stretched over her head. She bends her arms and rubs her eyes as she mutters, “Just kiss already. Jeez.”

 

Both of her friends blush. Tina rolls her eyes as she looks to her friend. “You’re one to talk,” she accuses. “I was there with you and Lucy. Zero kissing.” She holds up her hand, her fingers curled to her thumb to form a circle. “Zippo.” 

 

“That you saw.”

 

Tina quickly spins onto her knees until she’s kneeling on the couch, clutching the backrest, her eyes widening. “Oh my god, you kissed her? And you didn’t tell me?”

 

Santana shakes her head and shrugs.

 

“But you just said …”

 

Mike chuckles and shakes his head. He leans back and crosses his arms loosely over his chest as he turns his attention back to the television. Mike’s smart enough to know not to get himself involved in this conversation.

 

There’s no room for him, anyway. Tina is the meddler and Santana is the medlee – he’s just an innocent bystander hoping not to get hit with any blood spatter should the discussion turn lethal.

 

“I didn’t say I kissed her. I just said that you didn’t see if I kissed her or not,” Santana quirks her brow. “Anyway, I’m sure you can think of something better to occupy your mouth than talking abou- …” She trails off and smiles softly at the screen behind her friend’s head when the morning news anchor teases cast interviews over muted video of Quinn posing for the cameras.

 

Tina turns around and giggles, whispering something about a “smitten kitten” as she settles against Mike again.

 

_“All eyes were on Quinn Fabray at the Teen Titans premiere. The movie debuted in the top spot at the weekend box office. Fabray opted for a less heroic style and glammed it up in a silver-blue Marchesa gown. She and her super-hunky cast mates wowed the crowd, some of whom waited in the stands for upward of seven hours to get a glimpse of Hollywood’s newest super team.”_

_They show a short video montage. In the few moments it plays, viewers are treated to the screaming crowd and the cast standing in front of them trying to sign the photos, posters and t-shirts being pushed at them, to Sam popping into Blaine and Kurt’s interview and to Sal hugging Quinn tightly. The montage ends with Quinn sitting opposite the camera and the film’s poster displayed behind her._

_“We’re seeing a different side to Quinn Fabray,” Ivan says from off-screen._

_Quinn smiles sweetly. “There’s not much call for Emily Dickinson to perform roundhouse kicks. That would be something though, wouldn’t it?”_

_“Well, yes …” he says, a chuckle breaking his voice. “But I think what people are talking about is your date. A little young for you, isn’t he?”_

_“Sal?” Quinn laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, no. The competition for his heart is pretty fierce. I understand that to even be in the running, my mom would have to bake him cookies. And, I love you mom,” she looks into the camera and winces, “but your baking skills wouldn’t give me the edge I’d need.”_

_Ivan gives her an impressed smile. He’s interviewed Quinn numerous times and she’s never done that before. She’s glared at him. She’s crossed her arms and gone monosyllabic with him. She’s even kicked him. But this playful, easy-going thing? She’s never done that before._

_“Okay, going back to the movie,” Ivan begins. “Did you feel any pressure being the only female lead?”_

_Quinn shakes her head. “No, the pressure wasn’t about being the only female. It was being this female – Donna Troy. She has big boots – and bracelets- to fill and I know that die-hard fans are hard to win over. I just wanted to do her justice, maybe get her out of her Amazon sister’s shadow ...”_

“Do her justice?” Mike’s shoulders jump when he laughs softly. “No one’s going to forget Donna now. Or think Diana’s better … ever.”

 

“Hey,” Tina playfully slaps his shoulder. “Number one fan title is reserved for Santana …”

 

“Do I get a parking space with that title?”

 

“Have to ask Lucy,” Tina teases.

 

“Ask me what?”

 

Tina’s head whips to where Lucy stands. Mike does a double-take and then blinks slowly and re-opens his eyes. It doesn’t change anything. Lucy is still standing there giving him an adorably sleepy and confused look. 

 

“Uh …” He blinks owlishly.

 

Tina bounces on her knees a little, a bright smile lighting her face. “Are those the Super Mario pants I bought you for your birthday, Santana?”

 

Santana rolls her eyes and makes a noncommittal noise as she putters around with the coffee maker.

 

Lucy looks down at her clothes, her brows furrowed. She softly says, “Well, if she didn’t thank you, allow me to. They’re super comfy.”  She continues her short trek to the kitchen hoping to resume her quest for coffee.

 

With Lucy’s back to her, Tina raises her brows and points to the girl, an expectant look in her eyes.

 

“Sit down, Tina,” Santana mumbles gruffly. When she’s sure that Lucy isn’t looking at her, she simply shakes her head, warning her friend not to say anything.

 

There’s nothing to say, anyway. Lucy being in the apartment is really very innocent – not that Santana wouldn’t like to be able to argue otherwise. But it’s not going to get anywhere beyond completely innocent if the other girl keeps rebuffing Santana’s attempts at having a particular discussion.

 

Whenever she starts to say anything that might lead Lucy to suspect she’s heading toward a conversation about what happened before the premiere, the other girl changes the subject or gives her a look. Santana knows most of Lucy’s facial expressions now. She considers herself an expert, really, on the fine art that is the other girl’s face.

 

There’s the one-eyebrow raise that, depending on whether her lips are curved up or down, either says that’s kind of adorable or warns maybe you should rephrase that. There’s the synchronized brow raise, with forehead wrinkled and lips pressed tightly together, that usually means that’s inappropriately funny and I’m going to pretend I am not amused at all.

 

Santana is pretty partial to the I have no idea what that means look. Lucy’s brows push together and her nose wrinkles cutely. It always makes the other girl think, for a moment, that this is what she must have looked like when she was a little kid. Absolutely adorable.

 

But this look – the oh, you want to talk about that? look - is newer to Santana. The way Lucy gently bites the edge of her bottom lip and her eyes widen, her lashes fluttering as she blinks a few times in quick succession – it’s not a warning or a tease. And Santana has yet to figure out the translation beyond the obvious: this is kind of scary. 

 

Lucy did promise they would talk, though. So, why she keeps changing the topic or shying away from it, Santana can’t understand. She hasn’t figured out how to make it happen and has, on more than one occasion, wanted to blurt out, “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

But she doesn’t because it’s not that kind of talk. It’s not a talk to get over with or to hurry through. It’s a talk that, if it goes right, could become something they both look back on as something good and meaningful.

 

Santana thinks it could become a moment.

 

And then she thinks that maybe reading too much fluff fan fiction has started to rot her brain.

 

But if she can’t get Lucy to talk to her about what happened, how are they supposed to move forward?

 

Their progression doesn’t seem at all like progress and, instead, it’s more of a re-settling than anything else. Talking on the phone is familiar and sharing take-out is safe. Talking about the minutiae that make up the day? It's comfortable. But Santana isn’t looking for comfortable right now.

 

That’s why she tags along when Lucy makes a quick trip to the store. Santana doesn’t have to pick up anything and, really, her friend just needs to choose a nice bottle of wine to bring to her manager’s opening weekend celebration. Can Santana help pick a bottle of wine? If it means the opportunity to play up her charm and wit, maybe wear Lucy down? She can be a walking, talking guide to Napa.

 

But when they get to the check-out counter and the cashier shyly smiles at Lucy, all charming and witty thoughts are swept away. She purses her lips when the young man asks, “You’re Donna Troy, right?” His cheeks color and he quickly corrects himself, “I mean, Quinn Fabray.” 

 

Lucy smiles softly, her cheeks tingeing with pink. With all of the publicity for the movie, she’s been getting recognized more often than ever before. It’s a sudden change. It was very rare before - almost unheard of - for someone to ask her if she was Emily Dickinson.

 

“I am.”

 

“I saw your movie,” he tells her. “You were really …” his statement stalls when Santana tilts her head and glares a silent warning. The cashier considers his word choice, deciding against his initial thought:  hot.  He clears his throat and says, “good.”

 

Santana bites the inside of her cheek and rolls her eyes away from the boy.  “Are we almost done?”

 

The young man rips the receipt from the register and pushes it toward Lucy. “Uh, let me just get your autograph right here, Ms. Fabray.”

 

“Ms. Fabray,” the other girl echoes before chuckling under her breath.

 

The cashier turns a confused eye to Santana and Lucy just shakes her head, wrinkling her nose cutely. “She’s just,” she explains, jabbing her elbow into her friend’s side. “We’re in a hurry and … y’know?”

 

“Oh, hey, yeah,” he says, nodding dumbly. “I know how that is.”

 

Santana presses her lips together to keep from commenting. Because it’s clear to her that this guy doesn’t know how anything is. If he did, he’d stop staring at Lucy, take the signed credit card slip and bid her a good afternoon.  But he doesn’t – he just stares at her and does the very least possible to be helpful, instead.

 

“Well, thank you,” Lucy reads his name badge, “Tommy. See you next time.”

 

“Yeah, definitely,” he answers lamely.

 

Santana’s about to make a comment about the new vice president of Lucy’s unofficial fan club when the pop of a flash kills the words in her mouth. She doesn’t even realize that she’s stopped moving altogether. 

 

Lucy loops her arm through her friend’s and whispers, “Just keep walking.”

 

She barely hears her friend’s advice over the paparazzi’s shouted demands.

 

“Hey, Quinn! Look over here!”

 

“Who’s your friend?”

 

“Over here, gorgeous.”

 

There are only a few of them, but Santana feels like she’s being cornered. When they reach the car and she has to let go of Lucy’s arm, she fleetingly wonders if the other girl’s pale skin will be bruised later. Her nails are almost white from how tightly she’d held onto her friend.

 

“You okay?” Lucy asks once the car is in motion.

 

The other girl takes a deep breath and mutters, “Five by five.”

 

Lucy frowns, not quite sure if that means her friend is okay – or not. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I should have,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know, prepared you or something.”

 

Santana doesn’t really know what kind of preparation Lucy means. She wonders if Haymitch Abernathy might show up to teach her how to handle men who shove cameras in her face. Or share with her the best defense against people who smell like Funions and call her sweetheart before they order her to smile. Short of that, there isn’t much that she believes could have prepared her for the onslaught of flash bulbs popping or for the incessant click of the camera shutters. 

 

She briefly entertains the idea of asking Eli to be her Cinna. She wouldn’t feel half as paranoid about having her picture taken if she was certain she looked good – enough. Good enough to be hanging out with Quinn Fabray who always seems to look like she’s on a runway, even when she’s wearing her street clothes instead of the outfits picked out for her by her stylist.

 

And, okay, if she gets to wear something that flames? Well, that’s just cool enough that it might make this circus worth the trouble.

 

Santana isn’t even sure how the paparazzi know where to find Lucy. It’s as though she has some kind of tracking implant like in the Dollhouse. If she’s ever around when her friend is napping and the girl doesn’t wake up and ask, “Did I fall asleep?” Santana is going to be sorely disappointed.

 

Ever since the promotion for the movie really kicked into high gear, they haven’t been able to go anywhere without a photographer jumping out at them. And she hates everything about it.

 

More than she hates the paranoia that comes with thinking she’s always being watched, she hates that she doesn’t have uninterrupted time with Lucy. She hates that she starts out thinking that this time – this dinner, or this trip to pick up take-out is going to be it. This time the moment is going to happen. Then a camera shows up and her resolve disappears with the flash. 

 

If Santana was going to be completely honest, she also hates the way it pulls Lucy’s attention away from her.

 

Okay, that’s not entirely true. Lucy’s attention tends to shift from whatever they are talking about and the girl goes into protective mode. Any unspoken rule about personal space is erased the moment it’s clear that they are, once again, in the spotlight. Lucy’s hand always finds Santana’s and she always holds onto it tightly, not letting ago until the flashes stop or they disappear into an area where the cameras can’t find them.

 

That part is actually fine with Santana. In fact, she likes that part. But the part that follows? The part where Lucy drops her hand, gives her some breathing room and tries to go back to their derailed conversations? That part doesn’t feel like progress at all. 

 

And that progress is why she’s not up for Tina’s ridiculous Lutana crap this morning. There has been no development on that front and Santana’s starting to wonder if there ever will be.

 

The truth of the matter is that Santana’s apartment is private property and, not only was it part of their original plan to watch a movie there, but even if they called that off, it was still the closer of the two apartments. Considering that construction on Fairfax adds an additional eight to ten minutes to the commute to Lucy’s apartment, the choice is practically made for them.  Lucy isn’t wearing Santana’s most comfy pair of pajamas because of progress. She’s wearing them out of necessity. 

 

“Agent Fabray,” Santana says, her voice low and her tone serious as she paces her bedroom, her cell phone pressed to her ear. “Our mission - should you choose to accept it - food. Wine (or beer, your call). Movie.”

 

“You were playing video games today, weren’t you?” Lucy chuckles and shakes her head as she closes her email. She stares at her desktop and Santana’s commissioned version of Donna Troy smirks back. . “Sounds like a pretty easy mission, Agent Lopez.”

 

“Don’t underestimate the terrorist cell. They are armed and they have spies,” Santana replies. “Can I count on you?”

 

“You want me to go in alone?”

 

“Are you requesting back-up for this op?”

 

Lucy laughs loudly. “I’m sorry. I think I’m out of my league for spy lingo.”  

 

“Infiltrate, sleeper, intel,” the other girl rattles off before exclaiming, “I’m pretty partial to compromised …”

 

“I bet you are.”

 

Santana smiles at her friend’s teasing tone and the amused laugh that follows. “But, seriously. You want me to pick you up? Go with you?” She squints and tilts her head, trying to figure out what that tapping sound is coming from the other end of the call.

 

After a moment, Lucy asks, “Are you offering to be my  … handler?”

 

Santana can feel her face heat up at friend’s words. “Your - ”

 

“ - that means an agent who manages agents, I guess,”  Lucy explains. “It’s not a bodyguard. They call those …” there’s a brief pause before the girl says, “‘babysitters’.” 

 

“Oh,” the other girl blinks and clears her throat. “Wait, did you look up spy slang?”

 

The clicking sound stops and the line is deathly silent. 

 

“You’re lucky I like things that other people think are lame,” Santana finally says before muttering, “lookin’ it up …”

 

Lucy sighs dramatically. “I’ll never earn my geek stripes now …” 

 

“Eh, what do you need ‘em for? You have legions of fanboys and geekgirls crazy about you already.”

 

“Legions?”

 

“Armies, even.”

 

“You know, I think I’m modest enough to be able to get by with a simple cadre,” Lucy teases.

 

Santana chuckle is so much closer to a snort than she would have preferred. She follows it with, “Good luck with that. You’ve got, at minimum, a horde. Have you Googled yourself lately?”

 

In that moment, Lucy’s gut-reaction reply makes her eyes widen with a thought that maybe she’s spending too much time with her friend. There’s no way “wouldn’t you like to know?” is an appropriate response. And if she’s picking up inappropriate responses, there’s only one source she can come up with to blame.

 

“I take your silence as a yes …”

 

Lucy takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the conversation at hand. “No, I haven’t. I don’t make it a practice to, uh, Google myself.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Is that surprising?”

 

“If I was famous, I’d Google myself all the time.”

 

The other girl bites her lip and decides that changing the subject would be in her best interest.  “Can I take you away from your rigorous Googling schedule for this mission? I understand food, wine and movies are involved … ”

 

“Give me a few minutes and then bang and burn,” Santana says smoothly. “And then, after the movie, we’re Googling you.”

 

“Bang and –“

 

“Burn,” the other girl finishes for her before suggesting, “Look it up. I’m leaving in five …”

 

When Lucy opens the door not even twenty minutes later, she is pleasantly surprised to learn that her friend has seemingly abandoned her running spy joke. She’s not, in fact, decked out in all black gear. Lucy half-expected her friend to have a zip line cord circling arm and night-vision goggles perched on her head.

 

The now non-mission is an almost-success. Food is ordered, paid for and received without incident. Well, there was one little girl who almost had an accident when Quinn Fabray came over to talk to her.

 

The girl obviously recognized Quinn but, just as obviously, was too shy to approach her. Instead, she shook her brother’s arm and whispered urgently in his ear. He’d kept his attention firmly on the Nintendo 3D in his hands. The only time the girl took her eyes off of Quinn was when the woman would glance over and catch her staring.

 

“One of your cadre, I suppose?” Santana whispers, smirking.

 

The girl shuffles her feet and looks down, her cheeks turning pink when both women turn and smile at her. As they move closer, the girl’s cheeks flush a deep red and she tugs on her brother’s arm to, once again, try to get his attention.

 

“Hi,” Quinn says sweetly. “Do I know you?” 

 

“You’re Quinn Fabray.” The little girl’s eyes are trained on the ground as she whispers her reply.

 

“So, we do know each other then,” Quinn teases and holds out her hand. “It’s nice to see you.”

 

The girl’s eyes widen and she slowly reaches out and shakes the offered hand. She wrinkles her nose as she talks to Quinn, her voice not much more than a whisper.

 

Santana watches the interaction and wonders how anyone could have ever thought that Quinn Fabray was an _ice queen_ or not likeable. Kids turn into little puddles of gooey kid when they’re with her. She’s gentle and she’s charming and Santana can’t think of anyone more genuine.

 

She hardly looks away during the exchange. When the girl smiles brightly for a picture, showing off a wide gap where her two middle teeth are missing, Santana presses her lips together to hide her smile.

 

“So, she was totally cute,” she says. “If Sal didn’t have his sights set on Maddie …”

 

Lucy pouts cutely. “I thought I was next in line if that fell through.”

 

“Oh, stop, you cougar.” Santana teases and winds her arm around her friend’s to lead her outside toward the RedBox. “What do you want to see?”

 

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

 

“I’d rather not do drama.”

 

“Okay, comedy.” Lucy traces her finger along the rows of movie poster graphics in search of a comedy.

 

“Or action. We could get an action movie.”

 

“Or,” the other girl starts to suggest, her brows push up toward her hair line, “we could get a comedy. What about this one?”

 

“Couldn’t pay me to see it,” Santana answers as she reads the title. She trails her finger along the next row of pictures and then taps an image. “This one.”

 

“No.”

 

“What about –“

 

Lucy grimaces and shakes her head. “How about this one?

 

“Forget it.”

 

“This one doesn’t look bad.”

 

“If by _bad_ you mean _watchable_. Here, I like this one.”

 

“Definitely not, Santana.”

 

Santana raises her brows and pokes the picture again. “Why not?”

 

“Because you said no drama and because I’m in it.”

 

"Fine." The other girl rolls her eyes and sighs loudly. “Your turn, then.”

 

Before Lucy can choose another title, a series of flashes erupt and Santana turns, squinting, to look into the parking lot.

 

“Don’t turn around,” Lucy tightens her hold on Santana’s arm and whispers. “Let’s finish up and get back to your place.”

 

Santana sighs in frustration when the paparazzi start calling out to them. “I have streaming Netflix and hi-speed internet. Can we just get out of here?”

 

That was supposed to be the end of it. They were supposed to have been able to get in Santana’s car and drive away. That’s what always happened.

 

Six blocks (a series of alternating right and left hand turns) later is when Lucy realizes they are being followed.  She digs in her bag and retrieves her phone.

 

"Hey, so," she says without offering a greeting. "I'm currently being followed."

 

Santana pushes her brows together and checks her rear-view mirror.

 

"No, we're in the car." Lucy nods to herself, or perhaps to the man on the other end of the call. "Yeah, Santana."

 

"Yeah, Santana what?" the girl asks, her eyes jumping from the view in front of her, to her mirror and back again. "Hey! Santana what?"

 

Lucy holds up her hand and closes her eyes, concentrating on the call. "It's not like I went to Whole Foods, Will. It's just this little market ...” She huffs, obviously irritated when her manager cuts her off.  “That's not what I'm asking for."

 

"What are you asking for?" Santana asks curiously, frowning and side-glancing at her friend.

 

Lucy pushes her lips together in annoyance at hearing the question in stereo - from the girl driving as well as from the man on the phone. "This isn't about a security guard. A security guard isn't going to be able to stop someone from following me. I just need to know what to do."

 

It's quiet in the car while Lucy listens to her manager. "If we can't lose him, I don't want him following me to my apartment."

 

"Hey, I've played all the Grand Theft Autos," the other girl offers. "Doesn't really carry over into real world play but I am totally up for giving it a try."

 

"No - I don't want a chase,” Lucy says a little more harshly than she intended. “Sorry … and thank you, anyway."

 

"Okay, then a nice tour of West Hollywood for our nosy friend with a camera," Santana announces as she takes an arbitrary turn. "If we detour up to NoHo, I want to break into the Hollywood sign. I've never done that."

 

Lucy frowns. "This isn't a joke, Santana."

 

"I know that," the girl whispers softly at the reprimand. “Geez, just trying to lighten it up, y’know? Acting like something’s stuck up your ass isn’t going to change the facts, right?”

 

“I’m not acting like –“ Lucy glares at her friend and returns to her call. “If we don’t lose him, we’re driving to the police station.” Without another word, she hangs up.

 

Santana wrinkles her nose and side-eyes her friend. “So, scale of one to Incredible Hulk, how mad at me are you?”  

“I’m not mad at you.”

 

“Okay, cool.”

 

They drive in silence for close to twenty minutes, all the while checking the mirrors for the silver SUV that had been behind them for most of their journey. Lucy alternates between staring out of the passenger window and staring into the side-view mirror.

 

“I’m really glad you’re not mad at me,” Santana finally says. “Imagine how awkward that would be, right? Driving around for, what? Like, twenty minutes without even talking or anything.”

 

Lucy sighs.   
  
“Aw-kward,” the other girl sing-songs, making her friend laugh softly.

 

“I’m really not mad at you,” Lucy reiterates. “I’m just frustrated, I guess.”

 

Santana nods. “Well, you can stop being frustrated. I don’t see him anymore.”  

 

“I bet you lost him when you went through the Jewish neighborhood. By the way, I don’t think you’re supposed to cut through parking lots like that.”

 

“Sure I’m not,” the girl replies. “I do it all the time.” She fails to mention that she does it all the time in video games. “And, no, I’m pretty sure we lost him at the old Weinerschnitzel. He looked like the type to be distracted by a chili dog, y’know? Or maybe he had to pee.”

 

Her friend raises a perfectly sculpted brow in question. "We're back in your neighborhood," she notes upon seeing a familiar local restaurant sign. "Good driving."

 

"Yeah, well ..." the other girl says. "GTA and all."

 

Lucy rolls her eyes. She shifts in her seat as best as she can with her seatbelt on to face her friend. "You probably want to call it a night, huh?"

 

"Are you kidding? That got, like, my endorphins or adrenaline or _something_ going. If you wanted to run a mile, I bet I could keep up," the other girl says, her eyes lit up and a smirk firmly settled on her lips. "Poor man's Red Bull."

 

"So ..."

 

"It'd suck to do all that just to have to drive you home. Plus, we’re already practically at my place." Santana parks her car a few buildings away from her apartment. There’s never a spot in front of her building; so, she doesn’t even try anymore. “Next time you want a tour of the city, though. Just ask. You don’t have to be so sly about it,” she teases.

 

It isn’t until after they’ve watched _Stardust_ (not exactly a comedy and not exactly an action movie) and finished their dinners that Santana sees the SUV. Lucy has stacked their plates from the coffee table and is gathering the leftovers into plastic containers she found under the kitchen sink when Santana steals away to her room to replace the television remote in closet. She isn’t about to take any chances with her DVR while Tina is staying with her.

 

She takes joy in the knowledge that this will be the last night she’s going to have to hide the remote for a while. Tomorrow morning, Mike and Tina will check out of _Hotel Lopez_ and spend the day in San Diego before Mike has to catch the late flight back to San Francisco.

 

At least she hasn’t caught them doing anything more than making goo-goo eyes at each other.  

 

Santana closes the shoebox a quick flash lights up her room. Santana may not be a big fan of the Weather Channel and, granted, she relies completely on Siri to update her on the local weather; but, she’s pretty sure she’d know if a storm was supposed to be rolling in.

 

When she peeks out of her window, she doesn’t see low clouds and the trees don’t appear to be swaying – but there _is_ a man standing in front of a silver SUV and taking pictures of the front of her building. When Santana checks again - ten minutes, thirty-five minutes and even nearly two hours later - the man is still there.

 

Lucy has her manager try one of his favorite tactics: leaking a celebrity spotting. Using a fake Twitter account, he posts: _OMG! Just saw @QuinnFabray at Whole Foods!!1!_   She’s peeking out of Santana’s window when the tweet goes out and she bites her lip when the photographer checks his phone. He’s obviously tagged her name for alerts.

 

“He’s not moving,” Santana whispers.

 

Lucy shakes her head and sighs. “He didn’t see me leave. I’ll tell Will to try again from another account in the morning.”

 

“In the morning?”

 

“Or …” Lucy blinks a few times. “Or, I could just go out there, I guess?”

 

Santana firmly shakes her head. “And have him follow you home? We could have skipped all of the fun car chase stuff if you wanted him to do that, you know,” she teases. “Just – you know, stay tonight and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

 

When the morning comes, she’s got Tina smirking at her (she thinks because of the Lucy thing and not so much because she ended up accidentally forgetting the remote in the living room after they watched _Batman Returns_ ). Mike is pretending like he doesn’t notice his – are they together now? Santana’s not sure but she thinks they must be – his girlfriend’s ridiculous smile. And then there’s Lucy looking absolutely adorable with her bed-head and sleepy eyes.

 

“You’re actually going to make coffee, right?” Lucy double-checks as her friend stares at the machine.

 

“Working on it.”

 

_Stay tuned for everyone’s favorite guerrilla gossip show, Behind the Screen_

 

“I hate that show, Tina,” Santana calls from the kitchen. “It’s a poor man’s TMZ. Shut it off.”

 

Before her friend can change the channel, an excited voice asks, _Is Quinn Fabray stepping out on boyfriend and stud co-star Sam Evans?_   _Art Blogger versus AquaLad – coming up next!_

“San …” Tina whispers, “that’s you.”

 

Santana’s eyes widen and she drops the packet of sugar she’s holding. “That’s my blog,” she says when they flash a screen cap of her blog. “And that’s my car - us in my car before we came in last night. But,” she looks back to her friend, who is leaning heavily against the counter and looking a bit shell-shocked, “we lost him. How’d he get that picture?”

 

Lucy opens her mouth but she doesn’t have an answer. Her cell phone ringing saves her from having to come up with one. “I -“ she holds up her phone and, seeing her manager’s name, says, “I have to take this.”

 

All three of her friends watch as she paces the small kitchen. “I’m watching it. No,” she huffs, “not on purpose. You know I don’t watch this trash.” After a few moments of silence, she says, “If you knew all of this, why didn’t you bury it? Will, that’s your job!”  

 

Santana bites her lip nervously, her attention back on the screen. The not-at-all-a-reporter is spewing some garbage about Quinn Fabray sneaking around West Hollywood while Sam Evans spends the day swimming with a group of Dream Makers kids. “Way to vilify …”

 

“I don’t get it,” Mike says. “Just because you guys hang out doesn’t mean you’re dating.”

 

Tina smacks his arm and shushes him.

 

“What?” he asks. “It’s not like there’s any reason for people to think either of them would be interested in each other.”

 

_… the popular blog artist, an out lesbian …_

 

“If I wasn’t before, I am now,” Santana mutters to herself.

 

All eyes turn to Lucy after she smacks her hand down on the counter, her voice hard as she says, “Well that’s not what I’m doing, Will. And you should have asked before you assumed.” She hangs up and blows out a harsh breath. She blinks a few times before realizing that her friends are staring at her.

 

“So,” she says slowly, her eyes even more slowly focusing on Santana’s. “Remember how I promised we’d talk when we had something to talk about?”

 

Her friend nods and swallows roughly. This was not the _moment_ she was expecting.

 

“We definitely have something to talk about.” Lucy sighs, already tired even though she just woke up. “Grab the coffee. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this flows. It was written bits at a time; so ... we're almost at the end, friends. Thanks for sticking with me to lucky 13 (chapters, that is!). There was something else I was going to tell you, but I've forgotten. Hm.
> 
> Also? Hope you like it.

 

"I don't know why, but I have a sneaking suspicion that coffee is just scratching the surface of what we're gonna need."

Santana leans heavily against the bathroom door. "I probably should have looked around for some cookies or, like, tequila." She's holding a pot of coffee in one hand and the handles of two travel mugs in the other.

After letting out a slow breath, she looks to her friend, already seated in the tub, and frowns. "Excuse me, Lucille - you're in my spot."

Lucy's eyes widen innocently as she looks down the length of the bath tub before turning her gaze to her friend. "I'm pretty sure this is  _my_  spot. I'm in it," she notes. Pointing to the opposite side of the tub, she offers. "You can sit there or you can have the toilet."

"What? I let you wear my Super Mario jams for one night and now you think you call the shots?"

All playfulness disappears and Lucy's lips purse together. "There or the toilet, Santana," the other girl reiterates, her voice low and firm.

Santana clenches her jaw and decides that winning this battle isn't important in the grand scheme of things. Besides, this doesn't seem to be the moment to push Lucy. Not after the morning they've already had.

She pours coffee into each of the mugs and sets the pot down on the sink counter. She hands one of the mugs to Lucy and places the other in the corner of the tub before climbing in and claiming the offered spot.

"Stupid faucet," she mumbles under her breath as she tries to get comfortable.

"I'm sorry this is happening," Lucy finally says once her friend is settled and mirroring her own position: back against the tub and knees bent. "I never meant for -" She blows out a frustrated breath before continuing. "I wasn't thinking, I guess, and now there's at least one scummy photographer who knows where you live. And they're talking about you on TV …"

The other girl chuckles good-naturedly even as she rolls her eyes. "Wait, are you actually apologizing for that sleaze show?"

Lucy's quiet for a beat before saying, "I think so."

"Why?"

"Why?" the other girl echoes in confusion. "Because it's not fair. You didn't sign up for this."

Santana twists to grab her coffee. "Unless you tipped off the freaks with the cameras, then you shouldn't be apologizing." After she takes a sip and resettles herself, she adds, "And, anyway, I wasn't under the impression that this was the Hunger Games."

She waits a beat and then smirks. "You know," she leads, "I volunteer!"

Lucy only barely acknowledges her friend's statement with a twitch of her eyebrow. It transforms into a clean arch and she asks, "So, what then? It doesn't bother you?"

"I don't  _think_  that's what I said," Santana replies with a nervous chuckle. " … just that I wasn't aware there was a choice. And, y'know? Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb."

Lucy looks at her blankly with her mouth curved into a tiny frown, not quite sure what her friend means.

"Adam West," Santana hints. "Batman? Nevermind." She points a slender finger at her friend's coffee mug. "You can drink that, by the way. I fixed it up …"

Before making her way to the bathroom with their not-so-bountiful breakfast bounty, Santana made sure to add two packets of raw sugar and a splash of vanilla creamer to one of the mugs. While Lucy always graciously accepts black coffee when it's handed to her, she never takes more than one very tiny sip before setting it aside.

Not that Santana has noticed or anything.

And if Tina gives her any crap about having flavored creamer in her house, then she can plan her next visit to Los Angeles as a day-trip. Or one of those 360° virtual tour things online.

"Oh, thanks …" Lucy looks down at the mug in her hands and plays with the flap on the lid. She's still studying the lid when she softly announces, "You know, you  _do_  have a choice, Santana."

"What? Not hang out with you?" The other girl grimaces and shakes her head. "I'm not going to be bullied out of …" Santana pauses before settling on a vague "... anything. And anyway, can't Douchebag do something about it?"

"Will."

"Okay,  _will_  Douchebag do something about it?" Santana's smirk only lasts a second. Lucy's knee crashing into hers effectively gets the other girl back on track. "Ow." Her whine is punctuated with a chuckle. She clears her throat and says, "I'm serious, though. He can spin it."

Lucy chuckles softly. "Spin it?"

"Yeah, make a lie look like the truth and the truth look like a lie," Santana explains. "Like with Blaine and with you and Sam."

"A lie …" Lucy inhales deeply and presses her lips into a sad smile. Her brows arch and she turns her narrowed eyes to her friend. "Which part is the lie, exactly?"

That weird twisting in Santana's stomach is back – the one that makes her nervous and makes her mind flash images of that crazy, old robot that shouts  _Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!_

She crinkles her nose and suggests, "The part about Sam being a stud?"

Lucy frowns. She blinks slowly before her eyes drift back to the mug in her hands. "Can you  _please_  be serious? Just this one time, can you just  _try_  not to make a joke?"

"Do. Or do not. There is no try."

She doesn't know why she does this; but, whenever Santana's nervous or feels unprepared, she dips heavily into her arsenal of references. She takes comfort in being able to fit quotes into any situation. In this moment, even though her friend is looking slightly less than thrilled with her, she's happy that she went with Yoda over Hal.

Somehow she thinks that "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that" wouldn't have gone over very well.

"You know, this is exactly why I was mad at you last night. You-"

"Wait, hold up," Santana interrupts, her smile falling away as she holds out her hand, as though trying to physically stop her from speaking, and does her best to prop her hand on her hip.

Banging her elbow against the tub does nothing to take away her scowl.

"You said you  _weren'_ t mad at me. You said that you were  _frustrated._ "

Lucy merely shrugs and pushes her lips into a thin line.

"Were you mad at me or weren't you? Because I remember you saying that you weren't – you  _specifically_  said you weren't."

"I was. With the situation," the other girl explains. She forces herself to meet her friend's gaze and hesitantly adds, "And with you."

Santana doesn't even bother to ask why.

She just turns her eyes away from her friend and focuses on the muted image from the backside of her shower curtain of the alien spaceship's tractor beam. If Lucy's not going to be honest with her, then like hell does she get to see any of the hurt that Santana knows is written on her face.

"Santana …"

"You lied to me. You let me sit there thinking everything was cool and the whole time you were pissed off. And over what, anyway?" She clenches her jaw and forces her glare not to move from the UFO. "I was joking. And you know it," she says sullenly.

The tone of Lucy's voice rises in exasperation. She throws one hand up in the air and lets it fall with a slap against her thigh. "That's just it, isn't it? Everything's a joke. And if you  _can't_  joke about it, then you just sweep it under the rug and act like it never happened."

"Oh, whatever, Pot."

"Excuse me?"

"This is you," Santana says, finally turning to look at Lucy.

She holds up her hand and pretends to talk on the phone, her voice insincerely sweet. "Oh, hey, Kettle? Yeah, everything's great. By the way – you're black. Oh, I know I said you weren't but you are, so … whatever." She rolls her eyes and re-crosses her arms.

Lucy's mouth falls open and she shakes her head when her confusion renders her speechless.

"What, Lucille, you think I didn't notice how  _you_  ignore things?"

"I do not –"

"Like hell you don't. You ignore anything that makes you uncomfortable or, heaven forbid,  _wrong_  until you  _have_  to deal with it," Santana accuses. "You just let everything slide until your back's against the wall."

Lucy's brows push together, her gaze drawn down to her hands. "I thought we were past that."

"We would be if you didn't try to push off that tactic on me and make me do it, too," Santana argues. "I don't operate like that. I'm sorry if you don't like it but if I'm willing to  _not_  avoid you completely and to admit I was wrong, then I think you should let me."

"I've haven't-"

"Ohmygod, you're kidding, right?" Santana's eyes widen in disbelief and smiles mirthlessly. She leans back and stretches out her leg. "Go on - give it a good pull because I know you are so fuckin' with me right now. There's no way you're serious."

Lucy swats her friend's leg until the girl moves it. "I have never asked you to ignore anything on my behalf."

"No?"

"Never."

"Did you have to special order your contacts or did they come with the limited edition UV-denial filter?"

This time when Lucy swats Santana's leg, there's a bit more of a sting.

"Ow! God, Lucille! What was that for?" The other girl bends her knees and hugs them to her chest. "That's, like, assault or something. I should see if my new paparazzi friend is outside and have him take pictures of the bruise."

"Paparazz-o," Lucy corrects. She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "And bruise? I barely touched you."

"You know when – " the other girl stops. She considers what she's about to say and changes her mind. "Never mind."

Lucy rolls her eyes and sighs tiredly. "When what?"

"Nothing, it's stupid," Santana says. "You don't want to hear it."

The other girl just tilts her head and looks at her expectantly.

"I was going to make a joke, okay? I'm sparing you from the 'one-third of all injuries occur in the bathroom' joke." Santana frowns and leans back, rolls her eyes away from her friend. "Seeing as how you don't like my sense of humor all of a sudden …"

"Ohmygod, are you pouting?"

Santana would prefer sulking or, possibly brooding; but, she is, indeed, pouting. Her bottom lip is poking out and she's tightened her arms around her legs. The most she's willing to contribute to this line of questioning is, "Shut up."

"Look," Lucy says before she sighs. "I'm sorry I hit you. And I'm sorry you think I don't like your sense of humor, because most of the time I do."

"Okay, for the record? That was a shit apology. But, seeing as how you have little experience with that kind of thing …" Santana rubs the spot on her leg where her friend smacked her. "And anyway, it's only a flesh wound."

Lucy stares down at her fingers as she clasps them together in her lap.

Santana tilts her head. "Just say it, already."

"Say what?" Lucy wrinkles her nose in confusion.

"Whatever it is you aren't saying that you want to," the other girl says astutely. "You're doing that thing," she notes, pointing to Lucy's face. "That mouth thing you do."

"What mouth thing? I don't do a mouth thing," Lucy argues stubbornly.

Santana doesn't think she can really describe it and she'll be damned if she's going to try to mimic it for her friend without practicing in a mirror first.

It's a pout, but not really. Her bottom lip isn't poking out any further than it normally does. The corners of Lucy's mouth twitch downward, but the girl isn't frowning. And when her lips press together into a fine line, they almost immediately relax again.

"You do but don't worry about it. It's not bad." Santana smiles softly. She hesitates to call it  _cute_  because she's not up for being smacked again if Lucy thinks she's teasing her or something.

There  _is_  something kind of cool about recognizing something that the other girl isn't even aware of herself. It makes Santana feel special, like in an elite category.

"So, just say it, already." Her eyes light up as she teases the other girl, "I'm on pins and needles."

Lucy pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and shyly meets her friend's gaze. "That night – with the cold Thai food? – it's like it never happened. And maybe I'm the one making it a big deal or making it mean more than it should, but …." Her shoulders rise as she continues, "I don't know, maybe it didn't mean anything to you–"

"I  _tried_  to apologize!" Santana doesn't let her friend get very far before she finds herself interrupting. "You didn't want to hear it," she accuses. "That's on you, Lucille – not me. You shut me down every time I brought it up and you were the one who acted like nothing happened. Let's just pick up where we left off and be buddy buddy."

"When you tried to apologize for what, exactly?"

The other girl's brows push together because, really, isn't it obvious why she felt the need to apologize? She pretty much told her friend that she sold her soul for screen time.

"For saying that you're, y'know, - well, c'mon, the dog thing, wasn't very nice."

Lucy shakes her head as she places one hand on each side of the tub to push herself up on her feet. "I don't need an apology because I know you didn't mean that," she admits softly. She steps out of the tub and takes the few short steps necessary before she reaches the bathroom door. "Your mouth runs away without your brain sometimes. I've learned to overlook it."

She opens the door and, with her eyes drawn down to the floor, she confesses, "I'd rather you call me names and say ridiculous things about me – most of which I know you don't mean." She inhales sharply. "I'd take that any day over you ignoring me."

Santana curses under her breath and scrambles out of the tub as Lucy leaves the room. She considers grabbing her coffee because, really, it doesn't seem fair that all of this is happening and she hasn't even had a pop tart or a Red Bull yet.

She ultimately decides against it when she remembers just how quickly Lucy is able to make an exit.

Mike and Tina jump when Santana enters the room and shouts, "Hey!"

Lucy stops in her tracks and lets out a long breath.

"You need to stop walking out on me," she says, pointing at Lucy's back."How would you even know if I'm not paying attention? You're always taking off before I can even respond! Maybe if you stuck around and gave me a chance to figure out what's going on, you wouldn't be so  _mad_  at me all the time."

Lucy spins around, her eyes hard and her jaw clenched.

Mike's eyes widen and he tightens his arm around his girlfriend. He's not sure why Tina's grinning because, as far as he can tell, this is not a good conversation. As though the raised voices weren't enough, he's pretty sure that the looks the two girls are giving each other are closer to dog-fight than puppy love.

"Stick around and wait for you to say what? Nothing?"

"Right because, y'know, all the times we've hung out and those all-night phone conversations," she says with a frown, "… obviously ignoring you."

Tina brings her clasped hands to her chest. "So. Many. Feels," she whispers just loud enough for Mike to hear. "I can't even…"

He clears his throat, hoping to get the other girls to remember that they aren't alone.

"I put myself out there, Santana. I don't do that," Lucy explains. Though her shoulders are still squared, her voice softens. "But I did it for you." There's a flash of something in her eyes before she focuses on Santana's with a steely gaze. "And you ignored it without so much as a blink."

Santana is temporarily disarmed by the vulnerability she could have sworn she saw in the hazel eyes staring at her. She blinks a few times, her brows pushing together and asks, "When? Because, no offense Lucille, this is news to me."

When her friend doesn't answer, Santana decides to press the issue. Yes, there are battles she's willing to lose but not this one. If there's anything she knows, it's that she has never ignored Lucy.

Avoidance in the face of utter embarrassment is not the same as apathy.

Mike gently tugs on his girlfriend's hands and tries to slowly shift so that he can pull her off of the couch.

"You will be armless," Tina warns under her breath. "I'm not missing this. Lutana is my OTP."

He frowns and whispers back, "I thought we were your OTP."

"I can't hear you over the sound of Lutana being canon," she says under her breath, clearly distracted by the scene in front of her.

Mike blinks rapidly and pokes Tina's side. "Chang Squared is canon, too. Unless I'm misunderstanding canon all of a sudden."

Lucy opts to respond to Santana by shaking her head and looking away.

"… because it didn't happen," Santana says firmly. "And you two." She glares at the couple watching intently from her couch. "Stop whispering. It's distracting."

She can't afford to be distracted right now, not with the way her head is spinning.

When Santana walked into the bathroom, she thought Lucy was going to talk to her about their media coverage and maybe ask her how she wanted to handle it. From there, she kind of hoped there'd be some discussion about who they wanted to be to each other – and, if things went her way, maybe even touch on how much Lucy would want to admit to the public.

That conversation seems to have been sideswiped by a more ruthless conversation that, as usual, puts Santana in the wrong. Ignore Lucy? Impossible.

How can you ignore someone when you're paying such rapt attention to her? In fact, there's little else she actually  _does_  pay attention to. Santana is pretty sure that, if Lucy asked, she could tell her what outfit she was wearing when they had the now infamous "lamp Skype."

And that was before she even knew she wanted to pay attention to the up-to-that-point faceless girl.

(Jeans, tucked in black top and ring on her middle finger).

"I told you that I would have wanted you to be my premiere date." Lucy reminds her, finally breaking her silence. "If I was able to bring one."

"Which you weren't."

"But  _if_  I was, I said it would have been you and I –"

Tina bites her lip to keep from squealing. Even with Mike pulling on her, she's kept her hands clasped tightly to her chest through the exchange.

"- and then you never brought it up again! And you never let me, either!" Santana can't help the frustration that pushes through her voice. "And!" she says, trying fruitlessly to cut off whatever it is that Lucy's about to say.

"And all you wanted to do was apologize for kind of calling me a prostitute. You didn't even acknowledge that I came out to you."

Tina is caught between a horrified sort of confused at learning that Santana called the other girl a prostitute - how would that even come up? – and giddy at Lucy's acknowledgement of her Sapphic leanings.

Even more so, the fact that she's leaning toward Santana.

Mike just frowns, resigned to sitting this out. It's not like he has much of a choice. He doesn't really think anything good will come of his leaving the room without Tina.

In all honesty, Mike doesn't really get what's going on at all. There's a lot of rehashing of details and, maybe it's just him, but details are fine for  _good_  stuff but when dudes argue? It's best to just forget the details and keep the big picture in mind. And duck if the other guy decides he's pissed enough to throw a punch.

He thought talks like this only happened in chick flicks and in the stories Tina posts online.

It seems like things would be so much easier for Santana and Lucy if they just followed his example. He held Tina's hand, looked into her eyes and told her that they belonged together.

(If they didn't want to go the Full Chang and follow that up with "unless you disagree - can you still drive me to the airport?" he wouldn't blame them).

"Or were you also going to apologize because that's not where you were going with this," Lucy gestures vaguely between herself self and Santana, "whatever we want to call it." Her eyes drift down to her hands, clasped in front of her. "Did you ever think that maybe I didn't want  _that_  apology?"

"Okay, back up. For starters, I didn't even call you a prostitute," Santana argue. "At best, I said you sacrificed your ethics for movie roles. Good ones, at that." She wrinkles her nose. "Which doesn't sound nearly as bad as 'dollar holler,' right?"

Mike wrestles the sofa pillow out of Tina's hands before she launches it at her best friend.

When Lucy doesn't even crack a smile, Santana takes a step forward and dips her head, trying to make eye contact with her friend. "For the record, I -" She blows out a breath when movement from the corner of her eye gets her attention.

She doesn't even want to know why Tina is clutching a throw pillow to her chest. But the goofy look on her friend's face is too much for her right now and she's pretty sure she can't handle this talk and an audience. "Can we take this talk somewhere else?"

"Is there something to talk about, Santana?" Lucy asks defiantly.

She looks into Lucy's eyes and confidently says, "So much. Just not in front of Tina. She's about to drown her boyfriend in shipper drool."

"I have no idea what that means but it sounds disgusting. And, anyway, I left my coffee in the bathroom." The other girl brushes past Santana but stops when her friend grabs her arm.

"We don't have to go to the bathroom. We can talk in my room, you know."

"I thought-" Lucy frowns and shakes her head. "No, I like the tradition of it."

"They have a tradition," Tina whispers happily, hugging the pillow even tighter.

Lucy chuckles under her breath and leads Santana back to the bathroom. "Your turn," she says, pointing to the tub once they're in the small room.

"The faucet sucks," Santana ponders aloud, staring at the tub but not making a move to get into it.

The other girl steps into the tub without a word and takes the side with the faucet.

"I was gonna sit there."

"I'm starting to think you like arguing with me."

Santana sits and, shifts herself at a little angle to give the other girl room to move away from the tap. "So, just so you know …" She takes a deep breath and looks seriously at her friend. "I brought you in here to talk last time because I didn't want you to see my room," she admits.

Lucy's nose crinkles on one side and she tilts her head. "I'd already seen it in online lots of times, Santana."

"No, you saw part of it," the other girl corrects her. "You saw posters, a few action figures and some of my CDs, right? But what you didn't see were the reference pictures I'd printed out for your commission."

Her friend shakes her head and shrugs, obviously not understanding why that would be a big deal.

"Pictures of you. References for Donna Troy," Santana explains. "Only, the commission was long finished and mailed, wasn't it? I sure as hell wasn't expecting you to come walking through my door." She purses her lips. "I didn't want to have to explain that I wasn't in any rush to take them down. I was already feeling really, really stupid."

"So, our bathroom talks started because you were embarrassed that I would find out that you have pictures of me in your room?"

"Had," Santana points out. "And more or less."

"More or less?"

"Yeah. And by more or less, I pretty much mean," Santana chuckles, "exactly."

She offers Lucy a modest smile. "So, if you think I was ignoring you, then you're wrong. All I was trying to do was the right thing."

"What does that mean?" Lucy asks. "The right thing?"

"Apologize for the bad stuff and work and kinda earn the possible good stuff. Not that I expect the good stuff is even a valid offer anymore." Santana taps her knee against her friend's. "And that's not just a euphemism."

She rolls her eyes at herself and casually says, "It's been brought to my attention that my mouth runs away without my brain sometimes. And that can do some pretty substantial damage to good stuff."

Lucy bites her lower lip and shyly looks over at her friend. "You don't seem to be having that problem right now," she comments softly before asking, "You weren't just avoiding the issue, then?"

"No. Definitely not," the other girl replies. "I didn't spend hours in Eli's chair having him gussy me up for Sal. I love him, but, c'mon. That was obviously for you."

Her friend's eyes cloud as though she's remembering exactly what Santana looked like at the premiere. "You did look amazing, but," she blinks, her cheeks flushing slightly as she admits, "I might be partial to you in jeans and your tee shirts that always seem to need an explanation."

"Is it that I have awesome taste in geek gear or is it that I have a nice rack," her friend says confidently, straightening her back against the tub. "Thanks for noticing, either way."

Lucy's eyes widen and, when she realizes that her friend is teasing her, she playfully swats the other girl's knee. "I didn't mean it that. I just meant that it's more you."

"So you don't think I have a nice rack?"

"I'm not answering that."

Santana smirks. She's pretty sure she knows the answer anyway. "So, where does this leave us?"

"Still sitting in a tub," Lucy answers plainly.

"Is Dou-Will going to make some kind of comment or something about what they aired today or …?"

The other girl shakes her head. "He doesn't want to. He's pushing me to ask to Sam to comment that we're not together and that he'd be totally for it if I- " She hesitates. "- I don't know, some stupid guy talk about landing a hot girl."

"At least someone noticed!"

"Well, according to Will, I've been noticing. And others have noticed that I've been noticing," Lucy admits. "He said something about a picture of you noticing me but, I didn't notice …"

"Gee, can you vague that up for me? And maybe stop talking like Tina because I'm going to call a Girl Chang Ban if it keeps up." Santana raises her brows and nods. "For serious."

"Noted."

"In plain people talk, please."

Lucy nods and takes a deep breath. "Will thought I was subtly making a statement by being seen with you. When he'd gotten calls from people asking about the status of our relationship, he didn't release a statement but he did say he'd look into it. Do you know what that says?"

"I presume it means something other than that he'll look into it?" Santana guesses. "Why can't people just say what they mean?"

The other girl chuckles lightly. "Because this is public relations and what you don't say is as important as what you do say. Maybe more so." She twists her fingers together and says, "When Will said that, he left the door open. And he did it on purpose because he thought I wanted it."

"But you don't?"

"No, I do, but – " she blows out a nervous breath. "But I'd rather do it with good reason. I don't want to invite people to judge my personal life just for sport."

"But if you had a hot piece of nerd ass," Santana suggests as seriously as possible. When Lucy suddenly lets out a loud laugh, she lets the façade crack and giggles.

"It must be horrible to have such low self esteem."

"It's a burden I proudly carry. That and unlimited Xena references." She snaps her fingers. "I can give you one for almost every occasion. Joss Whedon, too."

Lucy softly comments, "You're very talented."

"Actually, it's 'I have many skills'," Santana corrects. She sits up and lets out a breath. "This talking thing isn't one of them, obviously."

"Okay, straight to the point, then. What do you want?" the other girl asks. "From me, I mean."

"Everything," her friend replies a little too quickly. "It's funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to." She grimaces and closes her eyes. "I meant," she says more deliberately, "whatever you're willing to give, I guess."

When Santana opens her eyes, all she sees is Lucy grinning at her from the opposite end of the tub. "Stop smiling," she teases as she rolls her eyes in fake annoyance. "It's your turn."

Lucy's tongue darts over her bottom lip and she inhales deeply. "I want Will to be able to confirm the story." Her eyes widen and she quickly adds, "With Sam's help, of course. Otherwise people with think I cheated on him."

"Confirm the story that …" Santana leads, smirking as she pushes her friend to specifics.

"… that we're – that you and I are together." Lucy's brows push together when the other girl waves her hand, gesturing for her to go on. "I'm not sure what more you're looking for. Um, romantically?"

"And the word for people – girl people – who are together romantically?"

"Gay?" Lucy guesses, not really sure where Santana is going with this line of questioning.

The other girl laughs. "Well, yes, but I meant a –" she rolls her eyes to the ceiling as she counts on her fingers – "ten letter word, also starts with G … ," Santana hints.

"Technically,  _girlfriends_  is eleven letters. I think you forgot the  _s_."

"Dammit, Jim, I'm an artist, not a mathematician."

"I actually get that one."

"Be still my heart." There's a short pause, just long enough for her a smirk to find its way onto her face. "So …"

"So?"

Santana sits up and gestures for Lucy to do the same. Once the other girl is close enough, she takes her hands and asks, "So, when I should expect my fifteen minutes of fame to start?"

"Are you agreeing to let Will comment?" Lucy asks, her thumb rubbing little circles onto Santana's hand.

The other girl hums and rolls her eyes away, pretending to think about it. "On one condition."

Lucy blinks a few times in surprise.

"Just one," she reiterates, with a warm smile. "Relax."

"Okay," the other girl draws the word out and eyes Santana suspiciously.

"The next time we deal with those men with cameras, you're not allowed to just stop doing this," she looks into Lucy's eyes and squeezes her "hand, "without warning. Because that was like …" Santana trails off and shakes her head. "I wasn't a fan of that. So, don't do it anymore, okay?"

Lucy's bottom lip is, once again, pulled between her teeth as she nods her understanding. "Anything else?"

"That's it."

"I think I can manage that," Lucy agrees, tightening her grip on the other girl's hand for emphasis.

Santana rolls her eyes and blows out a quick breath. "See, this wasn't so hard, was it? You say something and then I say something and then – things are cool."

"Says the girl who wanted to bring vodka to the party," Lucy teases.

"Tequila."

"Same thing."

"Says the girl who thinks white wine is hard liquor."

"Do you really want to keep talking right now?"

Santana's brows furrow and she scrunches her nose. She's pretty sure this is a trick question because it almost sounded like a warning with a side of teasing. And all of a sudden, there seems to be less room between them in the tub.

That's when she realizes Lucy has leaned toward her just enough so that it's noticeable. Hitch's advice runs through her head but she immediately shakes it off. And that stomach twisting thing? It's delightfully back.

Her confused frown bends into a smile as she shakes her head.

The twisting stops when their lips meet and all that Santana feels is a warm kind of calm. She's not sure how long the first kiss lasts or at what point a first kiss, technically, stops and becomes a second or third kiss; but, Lucy's hand is cupping her cheek as she smiles against Santana's mouth and figuring it out doesn't seem all that important to her right now.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it's been ages and, really, if you're reading this - thank you for sticking around. Real life sometimes makes it hard to do things that make you happy (like write). I think I'm past the worst of it. I'm working toward putting my energy into the positives (again, writing) instead of the negative as I kind of gotten stuck into the rut of doing. There will be more updates and I hope not to have six months pass in between, again.
> 
> Also? This isn't the end. As I mentioned on Tumblr, it's been suggested that I continue.

Santana wiggles in anticipation as she opens the pink cardboard pastry box sitting on her coffee table. Taking stock of the box's contents, the excitement drains from her face and her lips pull down into a deep pout. "What the hell, Dizzy? Did you eat one of my jellies?"

"Nuh uh," Brittany replies airily, kicking her feet onto the low table. "They didn't have a lot left when I got there. But I asked them to give me whatever jellies they had. And I  _maybe_ gave one to that guy I forced to leave. Oh!" Her eyes widen in surprise and she points at an apple fritter, "I love that kind. Can I have it?"

Her best friend just rolls her eyes and nods in response. How the other girl doesn't know her favorite donuts are in the box is beyond her. Brittany is the one, after all, who picked them up.

Lucy sips gingerly at her much-too-hot coffee. It's technically her first cup of the morning. The one Santana made went cold sometime between the first utterance of the word _girlfriend_  and Mike and Tina pounding on the bathroom door to tell them that they had to leave.

She clears her throat and, blinking a few times in Brittany's general direction, asks. "I'm sorry, did you say you forced someone to leave?"

"Mmhm." Talking around a mouthful of pastry, Brittany says, "There was this creepy looking bald guy standing across the street. I thought he was homeless at first and, really, a homeless man deserves a jelly, don't you think, San?"

She doesn't wait for an answer because it was mostly hypothetical. And it's not like she expects Santana to agree. When it comes to jellies, her best friend is very territorial.

"Then I saw that he had this huge camera and I was like, 'not cool, homeless guy'. Because either he stole it or he wasn't using the coins people throw into his paper cup very wisely. Either way, as far as I was concerned, he lost the donut."

Lucy blinks owlishly at the girl. She opens her mouth to say something but realizes quite quickly that she doesn't have the words to express her confusion.

"Wait for it," Santana advises, patting her arm gently and offering her a chocolate twist.

Brittany licks the glaze from her finger and makes a small, happy sound before pointing to Santana's bedroom door. "Then I saw that he was taking pictures of your bedroom window. That's not just creepy; it's icky. And double creepy." She nods knowingly before shrugging nonchalantly. "So, I told him I was a cop and that it was against the law to take pictures of a private residence."

She takes giant gulp from her Nesquik bottle and lets the chocolate milk wash down the last of her donut. After wiping her mouth, she continues, "I told him I was technically off duty but that I could still arrest him. And - this was super smart of me - when he asked to see my badge I just opened the box of donuts and stared him down. Guess that was proof enough because he grabbed one of Santana's raspberry jellies and took off real fast."

"Raspberry? Aw, you're kiddin' me!" Santana whines and pokes her finger into one of the other filled donuts. "Ew, lemon. Gross."

Getting up from her spot next to Santana, Lucy makes her way into her girlfriend's room and creeps to the window. Peeking around the curtain, she confirms that it's true - the paparazzo from the night before is gone. She blows out a breath and leans against the wall.

Normally, she would just brush it off and move on, but this time was a little scary. Not only was she followed; but, Santana was with her. With the conversation they'd had earlier that morning, there was a good chance Santana would continue to be involved in her media appearances (scheduled or not for) for a long time. And something about having the other girl act as a getaway driver just doesn't sit right with her.

Grabbing her phone from the little table next to Santana's bed, Lucy punches out a quick text.

Luckily, the man with the camera didn't think to harass Mike or Tina as they left about an hour before Brittany's arrival. The two had quite a drive ahead of them before Mike had to make his way to the airport for his flight home. Lucy felt badly enough about interrupting their time together with her issues: first the paparazzo, then the media stuff ... then the Santana thing, well she had to admit  _that_  turned out pretty well.

_Tell me when it hits and what you're saying – and try to keep them away for just a little while. I'd like some time with her without them swarming._

"I'm just saying that the next time you offer someone something, don't make it the one donut I specifically asked you to get for me, that's all," Santana argues

Brittany frowns and crosses her arms. "I didn't  _tell_  him he could have it."

"Did you tell him he couldn't?"

"Well, no," the other girl answers, pouting. "But he was a maybe-homeless creeper guy! What was I supposed to do?"

Lucy quietly steps behind the couch, rests her hands on Santana's shoulders, and gently shushes her girlfriend. "Thank you, Brittany," she says very carefully. "I was a little worried that he'd never leave. I owe you one."

Santana huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. "Then let her give away  _your_  donuts."

"Oh, stop," Lucy says with a chuckle. She drops a kiss on the top of Santana's head. "You'll live if you have to share with me. Right?"

Not having been present for the earlier morning's schedule of debates and activities (including bath tub sitting, near-walking out and, according to Tina,  _eerily quiet private time_ ), Brittany's brows raise at the display of affection. She narrows her eyes and leans back, as though trying to figure out something very complex.

"Does this mean we're allowed to talk about it now?" she asks hesitantly.

Santana reaches up and rests one of her hands on top of Lucy's. "Talk about what?" she asks, playing dumb.

Brittany leans forward and stage whispers, "That you want to bone Lucy."

"I don't want to - Jesus, Brittany!" Santana sits up quickly, her voice strained and much louder than she intended. It takes her a moment, in her shock, to realize that Lucy's hands are no longer on her shoulders and that Lucy is, in fact, kneeling on the floor behind the couch, giggling with her hands covering her mouth.

"Oh, okay," Santana says moodily as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Laugh it up."

"It's not like you're not  _totally_  obvious about it," Brittany states simply, seemingly unaware of the daggers her best friend is glaring at her. She turns her attention back to the pastry box, her hand hovering over the remaining donuts as she considers which to choose. "I mean, did you call Tina to ask her if you should let me choose my side of the bed when I stayed over? No," she answers for Santana.

Lucy's giggles fade away and she bites her lip shyly. "You asked Tina if you should let me choose … "

"No," Santana says sullenly. "She didn't even know you were here until you made your grand appearance in my pajamas"

Brittany's head bobbles back and forth as she tries to make her decision. She almost picks up a bear claw – something she paid extra for because the baker calls them  _pastries_  instead of  _donuts_. It's all the same to her. Remembering that she is trying to be a vegetarian, she moves her hand over to the lemon custard that Santana didn't want.

"She asked me," she informs Lucy. "I told her that she should just take the middle and see what you do."

"Which I didn't do, so - stop looking at me like that." Santana does her best to sneer but her mouth refuses to cooperate. Instead of her lips pulling back, or even down, they simply tighten with the ends curled up. The best she can do is narrow her eyes as she asserts, "I'm not cute or whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking right now."

"I was thinking sweet, actually," Lucy admits as she tilts her head and looks adoringly at her girlfriend.

"Yeah, well," Santana tries not to smile. She rolls her eyes to stress her unhappiness at being the focus of the conversation but when she's done, she just finds herself caught in Lucy's gaze. The soft "whatever" she breathes out is practically a whisper and doesn't come across anywhere near as indignant as she aims for.

Closing the pastry box, Brittany leans back against the couch and, once again, puts her feet up on the table. "Good comeback," she mumbles around her mouthful.

"Okay, let's back up," Santana says as she glances away from Lucy and puts her hands in the air. "No. To answer your earlier question," she looks directly at Brittany. "No, you aren't allowed to talk about it."

"Why not?" the other girl whines. "Is Tina allowed to talk about it?"

"Tina didn't say I wanted to - and I quote - _bone someone_ ," Santana tells her.

Brittany shakes her head and corrects Santana, "I didn't say that either. I said,  _Lucy_. I didn't say  _someone_. I specifically said  _Lucy_  and I remember because I'm still not really sure what her name is or what I'm supposed to call her. But when I called her Lucy, she didn't say not to. So I guess that's what we're going with today. It might be different tomorrow, maybe. But today, I'm calling her Lucy."

"Lucy is my name, Brittany," the other girl says. "It's what my friends and my family call me. And it's what you should call me when we're hanging out in private, okay?"

Santana watches her best friend nod before waving her hands in front of her. "That's all nice and touching and whatever but, just – look. My relationship with Lucy is just that - mine." When her girlfriend's brows lift in question, she amends her statement to say, "Well, ours. But - you know what I mean."

Having Lucy's relationship belong to her is harder than Santana expects. No matter how hard she tries to hold onto some bit of "them" that doesn't include a larger "us," there is someone lurking around the corner to instigate themselves into their relationship. If it's not her friends bugging her, then it's Eli. And if it's not Eli, it's complete strangers. And sometimes, when she's particularly unlucky, it's a combination of the two.

Thanks to the paparazzo fiasco (otherwise declared by Tina as  _The Miracle of Lutana_ ), Lucy is forced to reschedule a coloring appointment with Eli. Not having an excuse, she cites that she has to run home to change and then tells him a  _very_  abridged version of what happened the night before.

Eli, of course, teases her by hemming and hawing before agreeing – conditionally and with a squealed "I knew it!" In exchange for the inconvenience of shifting around his (not really all that busy) schedule, he makes her promise to let him be the third wheel on one of her coffee dates with Santana.

Lucy readily agrees because she knows that, once he badgers her during her sitting, Santana won't really be in for much of Eli's exuberant line of questioning. In fact, she fully expects that by the time the interview a few days later with the folks from that movie review television show is done, he'll already be on to the next bit gossipy of news.

"Spill," Eli says the second the two girls sit down. He's leaning back in his chair in a relaxed and practiced pose, and looking at them smugly.

"Eli," Lucy starts, drawing out his name as a warning. "It's not what you're thinking. We've been over this."

" _We've_  been over this," he says as he points a tattooed finger at Lucy. "But  _we_  haven't," he adds winking at Santana.

After a quick squint, he makes a show of looking the girls up and down. Crossing his arms, he taps his chin as he processes what he's seen before and compares it with what he is currently seeing.

"Mmm, no. I can see how this isn't  _at all_  what I'm thinking," he teases.

He was already sitting at a little round table when they joined him at the coffee shop. Eli's large metal case rested on one chair, leaving the chair across from him and the one across from his kit empty. When the girls arrived, he noted how they pulled the vacant chairs together when they sat across from him.

From the moment they sat down, their shoulders were touching. He was pretty sure they were holding hands under the table but he didn't want to look because, well, checking out girls isn't his bag. And if he wants to get anywhere with the cute guy behind the counter, getting caught looking under the table at two girls, one of whom is wearing a skirt, wouldn't do him any favors.

"How about I get us something to drink while you clear up whatever it is you need to clear up?" Santana suggests, already standing. She rests her hand on Lucy's shoulder and asks, "The usual?"

A quick nod and soft "thank you" sends the other girl on her way to the counter. Eli is half-tempted to ask her to put in a good word for him with the barista. He thinks better of it and reminds himself that he doesn't need any help. If he keeps glancing over and making eye contact, and if he offers his trademark combination smirk-eyelash bat enough, then he'll be able to figure out if the interest is reciprocated.

Except it's hard to keep eye contact when Lucy's shoe smacks into his knee.

"Ow," he whines as he bends over and rubs the sore spot. "What was that for?"

"I told you to knock it off," Lucy reminds him. "I told you when I got to your place, I told you while you did my hair, I told you when I left and," she pauses, her jaw tightening for a moment as she glares at him, "I told you when I texted you that we were on our way. Cut. It. Out."

Eli finds it scary sometimes how much Lucy can sound just like his mother. All that's missing is his friend grinding out a "If I told you once, I've told you a thousand times …" through gritted teeth.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Eli sits back in his chair and self-consciously looks over at the counter. Luckily, the cute guy is too busy taking Santana's order to have noticed him getting reprimanded by his friend.

It's almost too bad. He could have used his adorable "what'd I do?" pouty face.

"Look, along with the uncanny ability to kick the knee equivalent of the funny bone on the first try," he begins, his attention focusing on his friend, "you have a hot girlfriend who obviously adores you - enough to know your coffee order and call it  _the usual_  - and it's only taken you about seventy-five thousand years to get here. So, excuse me if I don't take the opportunity to tease you." He leans back, stretching his leg out in an effort to walk off the sting without actually having to get up.

Leaning across the table, Lucy whispers, "Teasing is okay as long as it's not over the top, okay?" Remember her girlfriend's reaction to Brittany's 'you want to bone her' comment, she explains, "I don't think she's really comfortable with that kind of joking around. So, just." She shrugs and leans back. "Don't go overboard, okay?"

Eli nods distractedly and hums low under his breath. He's pretty sure that Santana isn't just okay with joking around (of almost every kind) but that the girl is a pro at it. He's had the opportunity of hanging out with her sans Lucy and the girl never came across as anything other than a kindred spirit.

"If you insist," he concedes. "But I think you're underestimating your little hot tamale."

"Ohmigod," Lucy rolls her eyes. "Please don't call her that."

"Am I her?" Santana asks, setting two paper coffee cups on the table. "If so, what am I not being called?"

"Nothing" Lucy says at the same time Eli says, "Hot tamale."

He simply smirks when his friend glares at him.

"Hey, I'll take it," Santana replies as she winks at Eli and sits down, her chair scooting just a tiny bit more toward her girlfriend's. "I thought, with Eli's new-found love of  _Star Wars_ , that there was some kind of Sith lord joke or something. Maybe something about me turning you to the Dark Side?" She turns to Lucy and whispers, "He's still working on figuring out when to drop those references, y'know?"

Lucy decides not mention Santana's penchant for throwing references around willy-nilly when she's feeling particularly stressed or embarrassed. Instead, she chuckles as she says, "Not everyone's a pro."

Santana smiles brightly at the compliment and, whether it's good or bad fortune, a harsh clicking sound coming from somewhere behind her lets her know that she'll probably be seeing the adorable grin she received in returned again. And again.

Deciding to look on the bright side, she considers it a blessing that it's midday. Had they decided to meet with Eli any time after dusk, there would have been a series of flashes to go along with the consistent clicking. The gossip about their not-quite confirmed relationship is fresh enough that the media is interested. And so are Quinn's fans.

From the giddy stance - almost running place - and the wide smile, Santana figures this amateur photographer is the latter.

"I'm so sorry," Lucy whispers, leaning close to her girlfriend.

Santana shrugs and plays it off as if it doesn't bother her. Even though she's not wild about her personal time being a photo op for a complete stranger, she knows better than to mention it as anything even coming anywhere close to being defined as an intrusion. This type of occurrence is something she has to accept if she wants to be with Lucy.

And she does.

Would it have killed the girl to have silenced her camera app before taking pictures? At least then Santana could try to pretend not to notice the semi-intrusion.

"It's part of the package, right?" If she's going to do this, then she's going to do it all the way. Putting on her best supportive girlfriend voice, she suggests, "Do you think you should maybe sign something for her or, like, pose or something before she pees her pants."

"She is excitable, isn't she?" Eli asks no one in particular as his mouth twists in distaste. "Like a little puppy."

"I've never invited this kind of thing ..." With her girlfriend seemingly urging her on, Lucy mutters, "I guess." Heaving a deep sigh, Lucy waves the girl over and steels herself.

"Ohmigod," the girl repeats under her breath as she hurries out of line and over to the table. "You're Quinn Fabray and you're Santana Lopez - and you're," she frowns, some of her excitement dying down. "I don't know who you are but that's okay."

Eli huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

Trying not to frown, Santana purses her lips. It's one thing for Lucy to be recognized - she expects it; her girlfriend is a superhero for goodness sakes. But for this random stranger to notice her, to even know her name, sort of freaks her out.

"My friends couldn't help but notice you in line," Quinn says diplomatically. "I'll admit that I don't normally offer, but would you like me to take a picture with you?" The question sounds so weird to Quinn and she hopes it doesn't come off as obnoxious.

"Seriously? That'd be awesome!" the girl says a little too loudly. "I can't believe this is happening!"

Santana has the urge to agree with the sentiment but holds her tongue. She knows this is supposed to happen. People are supposed to want to meet movie stars. And it's not like they hadn't been spotted by the paparazzi enough times for her to realize Quinn's draw. Somehow, when it's cute little kids, it's a little easier for her to swallow. This is a grown up – a young woman, but a grown up, nonetheless.

Quinn stands up to get into pose position, her arm stretched out for the other girl to step closer. When Santana gets up to scoot her chair out of the way, the girl with the camera shakes her head and excitedly says, "No, no. With you, too! Please?" She holds her camera out for Eli to take. "Would you mind?"

Biting back the 'yes' that threatens to fly from his lips, Eli rolls his eyes and grudgingly takes the camera.

Santana tilts her head. "You sure you don't want one with just you and Quinn?" she asks, shifting on her feet uncomfortably. "I'm not the main event."

"Yes, you are! " the girl argues happily as she waves exuberantly at Santana as though trying to pull her closer just by moving her hands quickly through the air in front of her. "You're _Santana_  of Quinn and Santana!"

Quinn bites the inside of her cheek and, for a quick second, considers digging into her bag for her cell phone. Had she missed a text from Will? She was pretty sure he was on board with the whole head's up thing. And, as of yet, she'd heard nothing about his statement to the press on this matter.

Eli shakes his head and holds up a finger. 'No, no. I believe it's Santana and Quinn, Incorporated, LLC. Isn't that right?" He winks at Santana, letting her know that he's playing around.

"Okay, look." Santana takes a small step back. "I'm not in a movie or anything and, y'know, that means I'm not the one you should be getting your picture taken with. I'm just hanging out with Quinn." Pointing to her girlfriend, she adds with a tiny smile, "She's the star."

"You're both stars!" the girl says altogether much too loudly. "My friends are going to be so jealous that I met you. I can't believe I'm not freaking out! Ohmigod, I'm totally about to freak out!" She giggles manically and covers her mouth to try to keep her excitement from escaping.

Eli's eyes widen. "Take the picture," he says through clenched teeth. "Do it before she – what's your name?"

"Anna! Hi!" Anna pushes her hand out to try to shake his hand before deciding that, if she's going to shake anyone's hand, it's not going to be the guy she's never seen before.

"Okay," he drawls out as he watches Quinn, and then Santana, quickly accept firm handshakes. "… before Anna spontaneously combusts. I did not just spend hours on Quinn's hair to have to pick pieces of exploded fan out of her it."

Quinn winces at the look on her girlfriend's face. She's nothing short of shell-shocked. "How about," she offers softly, "one with all of us, my friend Eli included. And then one of just the two of us. C'mon, Eli. Your arms are long enough to do it selfie-style, right?"

Frowning, Eli shakes his head. "Hey, hey!" He hushes her and leans close to her ear. "Ix-nay on the elfie-say in front of the cute man in the green apron, capice?"

Stepping up next to him, Santana whispers, "She meant the photo, you perv."

After a moment of consideration, he calmly says, "Oh. Sure. Yeah, we can do that."

It takes a moment for the girl calm down enough not to giggle maniacally at the fact that she's sandwiched between Quinn Fabray and her maybe-possibly (almost definitely) girlfriend. Eli counts off, halfway not caring if anyone else is paying attention because he's in charge of the shutter and when he's good and ready (looking especially hot), he's going to press the button.

"Thank you so much!" Anna says loudly, her voice still outside of the normal volume range for a conversation. "You're so amazing and inspiring and," she pauses, as though catching herself. "I'm sorry I'm gushing. It's just that there aren't a lot of people out there that look like me or my friends, you know? Not that any of us look like  _you_  but you know what I mean and I know it's crazy to be so excited about seeing you." She smiles brightly at Santana. "With you. But, there's no one else so out there right now."

Santana presses her lips together and just looks at Quinn. She's not sure she's supposed to say anything because, let's face it, her girlfriend's public life is controlled by a white man with a Jheri curl.

Quinn blinks a few times before shyly smiling. "I'm not," her head shakes softly as she looks at the girl. "I'm not doing anything special, you know. I'm just like you - living my life. And, okay, sometimes people want to take a picture with me," she says with a light chuckle. "But mostly, I'm just trying to be happy." With a quick look at Santana, followed by a wink, she adds, "I'm pretty sure I'm closer than I've ever been."

"Q," Eli slowly warns. "More ix-naying is probably better than not with the ix-naying, y'know?"

Quinn smiles sweetly and reaches out her hand. Wiggling her fingers, her smile grows as Santana's hand slips into her grasp. Turning Anna, she says, "Tell your friends you heard it directly from me, okay? But tell them fast because I'm expecting my people to spill the beans any minute now."

"Are you serious?" the girl's mouth dropped open in shock. "Are you  _confirming_  it?"

Quinn's brows arch as she tangles her fingers with Santana's. "Why not?" she asks, and she lightly, and a little nervously, laughs. Clearing her throat, she softly announces, "Santana and I are, in fact, together - in a relationship. I'm pretty proud of it, actually; so, why should I wait for someone else to tell you for me?"

Lifting Quinn's hand, Santana kisses her knuckles and whispers, "Kinda proud of you." She narrows her eyes at the fan and blows out a faux-annoyed breath. "'Course, now she's gonna want another picture with us or something. Way to go."

Anna simply smiles and shrugs, indicating that Santana's not wrong.

Eli snaps his fingers and motions to Anna's camera. "C'mon, give it up. One more and then I get the girls all to myself. They owe me for messing up my entire work schedule with  _she_ -nanigans and girl drama."

About thirty minutes after their encounter with the fan, Quinn's phone dings loudly from her bag. After rummaging around in it, she pulls her phone out and winces as she sees the screen lit up with her manager's name prominently displayed. "I should ..." she pointed over her shoulder to the outdoor seating area of the shop. "Who knows how much trouble I'm going to be in …"


End file.
